#and even then he's probably out for too long for it to be more than business coworker relationships | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mariasont · 3 days ago

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A Pen For Your Thoughts - A.H.

a/n: hi besties, this literally took my five hundred years but i love it so it was worth it <3 i just love these two soo much

masterlist

summary: 5 times hotch found himself unexpectedly drawn to bimbo!assistant!reader before they were together and 1 time when they finally were

pairings: aaron hotchner x bimbo!assistant!reader

warnings: just a whole bunch of fluff, fem!reader, aaron being a straight up simp, pining, 5 and 1

wc: 7.3k

Aaron Hotchner's steps slowed before he realized why.

The first flicker came in the form of a colorful blur in his peripheral vision. He might have ignored it—probably should have—but the movement tugged at his attention like a reflex. Without thinking, he glanced over his shoulder.

Big mistake.

You were seated in one of the stiff, fabric-covered chairs that lined the hallway outside HR, and he felt as though someone had hit pause on his mind. Your legs, crossed at the knee, seemed endless, every line perfectly sculpted. Your hair spilled over your shoulders in perfect waves that looked effortless but undoubtedly weren't, and your lips--gods, your lips--pulled at his focus like gravity.

It wasn't unusual to see someone unfamiliar on this floor, and most strangers barely recognized. But it was unusual to see someone who looked like they'd stepped out of a magazine shoot—as if the universe had dropped someone out of a dream into the most mundane place imaginable.

Aaron had seen beautiful women before--countless ones, in fact, across years of cases and courtrooms and the occasional social outing. But you? You looked like you had walked out of another world completely (one completely out of his league), all shimmer and gloss. The kind of stunning that made it hard to look away--or to think clearly.

Aaron knew he should have kept walking. He didn't have time to for this, whatever this was. But then you shifted, the smooth, unhurried motion of uncrossing your legs pulling his gaze like a thread he couldn't snap. His eyes betrayed him, flicking back to you before he could reel himself in. He hated that he looked, hated the lack of control in the moment—but most of all, he hated how much he wanted to look again.

There seemed to be nothing accidental about you. From the way there was not a single hair out of place, to the unbroken line of your posture, it all felt... intentional, like you'd been crafted with care by someone who didn't believe in flaws.

Aaron felt a twist of discomfort in his chest, something about you left him off-balance, and he didn't like it.

When your eyes lifted to meet his, Aaron felt the shift immediately. The tightness in his chest changed, became something warmer, something less familiar and far more dangerous.

Your gaze was steady, curious, and completely unaware of the way it held him in place. He wasn’t used to being the one caught—being the one struggling to pull himself free from a moment that had stretched too long—but here he was, unable to look away.

Somewhere in the background, computers hummed and printers sputtered out pages, but none of it mattered. The world around him felt muted, stripped down to only you. You tilted your head slightly, that faint curve of your lips threatening to pull a smile from him in return—something he hadn’t done in a place like this for longer than he cared to remember.

Aaron blinked, hard, tearing his gaze away finally like a man breaking free from a spell. He resumed his stride with sharpness he didn't necessarily feel. Focus, he told himself, jaw tightening as though the word alone could erase the lingering pull in his chest.

He had far more pressing matters to deal with than... whatever that had been. He told himself it didn’t matter, even as a faint ache settled somewhere deep in his ribcage at the lie.

But as he passed you, a faint, unexpected sound followed him.

"Excuse me--uh, sir?"

He turned slowly, his gaze landing on you a few feet away. You stood there with a pen in your hand, arm outstretched, as though you were offering him the world's most valuable artifact.

Seeing you up close was worse—or maybe better, he wasn’t sure. The graceful slope of your jaw, the delicate shape of your lips, and the faint light in your eyes that seemed almost too perfect—it was too much. He thought, briefly, about stepping back, as though more space could dull the effect you had on him.

"You dropped this," you said brightly, like you were genuinely pleased to hand it back to him.

Your smile was brilliant, almost too much in its sincerity, and it caught Aaron off guard. It clashed so completely with the hard lines of his own expression—the squared shoulders, the set jaw, the seriousness he wore like a second skin.

He frowned slightly, glancing at what was in your hands: a pen.

"That's not mine."

"Oh." Your expression faltered, but only for a second. Then you shrugged, your smile back in place. "Well, it was on the floor, and you were walking by, so... I figured it had to be yours."

"It's not," he repeated, his tone more clipped than he intended.

He didn't mean to be rude, really he didn't, but the interaction felt dangerous—like stepping to close to the edge of a cliff and daring to look down. If he let himself give you even an inch, he knew he’d risk losing his footing completely.

"Right." You nodded, not in the least bit deterred. "But, I mean, it could've been. You look like the kind of guy who always has a pen. You sure you don't want it? Just in case?"

You twirled it once between your fingers before holding it out again.

For a second, he almost walked away. It would've been the logical thing to do—move on, let the moment slip into irrelevance. But something about the way you stood there, head tilted like you were sizing him up, your lips twitching with barely-contained amusement, made him pause. The whole exchange was absurd, and yet, he couldn't quite bring himself to end it.

With a resigned sigh, he reached out and took the pen. His fingers brushed against yours for the briefest second, a fleeting touch that felt entirely too noticeable.

"Thanks," he murmured, his voice rough, as though the single word had taken more effort than it should have.

"No problem! Good pens always find good people. Or, like, maybe the other way around?"

You laughed softly, the sound light and unselfconscious, like you hadn't just made one of the most absurd statements he'd ever heard.

"Anyway, it's yours now. Fate or whatever."

Hotch blinked, unsure whether to laugh, respond, or simply walk away. "I'll, uh, keep that in mind."

Before he could decide what to do next, you gave a quick, cheerful wave, the motion fluid and natural, as though it required no thought at all. Turning on your heel, you moved back to your seat with an easy stride, settling in as though nothing had happened. Your legs crossed neatly as you opened the glittery notebook, your attention shifting back to it without hesitation, leaving him standing there like a man caught in the middle of something he didn’t understand.

Aaron forced himself to resume walking, the pen clutched in his hand as though he might actually use it. He had a drawer full of pens—good ones, expensive ones, and this one wasn't even his. Still, as he rounded the corner to his office, he felt his grip tighten on this particular one.

Aaron shut the door behind him with more force than necessary, the sound reverberating in the otherwise quiet office. The pen—your pen—landed on his desk with a clatter far louder than it had any right to be.

He stood there for a moment, his hands braced against the edge of his desk, his breath coming heavier than he wanted to admit. Unusual.

Sliding into his chair, he opened the first file and scanned its contents, letting the familiar details of a case seep into his mind. A triple homicide in Phoenix. Victims were a family of four—father, mother, two children. The youngest, a boy, survived. Age seven.

He wrote a note in the margin, flipped the page, and tried to ignore the memory of your voice.

His fingers tightened around the pen he'd grabbed from his desk—not the one you'd handed him, which still sat untouched where he'd tossed it earlier. He stared at the file, his handwriting blurring slightly, jagged and uneven in a way that irritated him.

Victimology. Unsub profile. Possible geographic location. He moved carefully through the pages, his mind grasping onto the structured familiarity like it was all he had left.

By the time he reached the third file, he felt a flicker of relief. Routine. Structure. This was his element.

And then his mind betrayed him.

The memory of pink heels, a short skirt, and soft lips that he wouldn't mind—

Aaron scrubbed a hand over his face, muttering a curse under his breath. This wasn't like him—he was better than this. Or at least, he liked to think he was. He didn't get distracted. Not by anyone.

Certainly not by a bright-eyed woman who looked like she'd stepped out of some sparkly alternate reality.

He exhaled sharply, shaking his head as though it somehow might clear the intrusive thought. Gripping the file tighter, he buried himself back in the details, his jaw clenched with the effort of willing himself to focus.

An hour slipped by, then another. He busied himself in his tasks, methodically combing through reports and notes until the details blurred together in a haze of ink and paper.

Just as his mind began to clear, a sharp knock at the door cut through his concentration, pulling him abruptly from his thoughts.

"Come in," he called, setting down his pen and leaning back in his chair, already bracing himself for whatever new interruption was about to derail his morning.

The woman he recognized as the head of HR stepped inside. She carried a folder under her arm, expression brisk as ever, and Aaron felt the slightest prickle of irritation at the disruption.

"Agent Hotchner, I wanted to introduce you to your new assistant," she said without preamble, gesturing toward the door.

His brows knit together. "My assistant?"

"Yes, we finalized the selection process this morning," she said, stepping aside. "I thought it would be best for you to meet her in person."

Aaron's stomach dropped. He'd completely forgotten about the interviews for the assistant position—Strauss had been pushing him for weeks to fill the role, but it had fallen so far down his priority list he hadn't given it a second thought.

And now, as you stepped into his office, notebook in hand and that same bright smile lighting up your face, Aaron felt the sharp pang of realization: he was doomed.

"Hi again!" you chirped, offering a little wave. "Guess I'll be seeing a lot more of you!"

He blinked, trying to keep his reaction in check, though disbelief and a hint of dread churned just beneath the surface. You were his assistant? This had to be some sort of test—Strauss’s latest ploy to see if he could remain composed under the most absurd circumstances. Or perhaps the bureau had finally decided that sending someone like you—someone who looked like you—was the surest way to undermine him, to make him throw in the towel.

He wasn't sure the motive, but he was sure he did not like it.

The HR representative gave a curt nod. "She'll be handling your schedule, communications, and general support tasks. Her credentials are impressive, and I think you'll find her capable and efficient."

Aaron forced a polite smile. "I'm sure."

His voice was even, but internally he was so certain that you could never be of help, that he'd never be able to focus again with you around 24/7.

You beamed, seemingly oblivious to his hesitation, which he couldn't figure out if he preferred or not.

The HR representative cleared her throat. "I'll leave you to it, then. She's officially on the clock as of this morning."

With that, she left, the door clicking shut behind her, leaving Aaron. By himself. With you. The gods hated him. That was the only logical explanation.

For a moment, silence hung in the air.

You tilted your head, studying him with a curious smile. "So, what's first on the agenda, boss?"

Aaron let out a measured breath, his thoughts already spiraling into contingency plans. Logically, he couldn’t fault your qualifications—your resume likely backed the bureau’s decision, and they didn’t make careless hires. But logic couldn’t compete with instinct, and instinct told him that having you around wasn’t plausible. Not for him.

"We'll start with familiarizing you with the basics," he said, his tone clipped but professional. "My schedule, ongoing cases, and departmental protocols. After that, I'll assign tasks as needed."

Despite his words, he was already combing through ways he could reverse the situation. Could he request a reassignment? Shift your duties elsewhere?

You nodded enthusiastically, flipping open your notebook. "Got it! Basics first. This is gonna be great—I can feel it."

He pressed his lips into a thin line, glancing at the pen still sitting on the corner of his desk. The one you'd given him.

The filing cabinet gleamed mockingly at Aaron Hotchner from across the office. Or maybe it was the glitter that gleamed. Yes, definitely the glitter.

He squinted at it, half-hoping that prolonged focus might transform it back into his carefully maintained filing system. No such luck. Pink and purple labels seemed to mock him from the distance, each one emblazoned in a font that could only be described as aggressively cheerful. Post-it notes stuck out at sharp angles like rogue confetti, and—God help him—there was definitely a smiley face in the corner of one drawer.

Aaron crossed his arms, his jaw clenching as he drew in a slow breath through his nose. He wasn't a man prone to dramatics, but at that moment, the cabinet might as well have had a neon sign reading crazy flashing above it.

He'd been meticulous about keeping things orderly since day one at the BAU. His filing system had been straightforward, functional, and--most importantly--serious. And now it looked...

Well, it looked like you had gotten involved.

You had been his assistant for just over three weeks now--twenty-four days, to be exact. Not that he was counting. Aaron still wasn't sure if the role suited you--or if you were bending the role to suit yourself.

He had no intention of snapping, no matter how tempting it was to question your sanity, but with a final glance at the glittery atrocity in his filing cabinet, he rose from his desk.

"Is there a reason," he said, voice calm albeit clipped, "why my filing system looks like it's been vandalized by a kindergarten art class?"

You popped your head up from the other side of the office, face brightening instantly. In true form, you didn't look even slightly apologetic. Instead, you grinned, holding up a stack of color-coded sticky notes like you'd just won an award.

"Oh, you noticed!"

"It's hard not to," Aaron replied dryly, gesturing toward the cabinet that now sparkled like a disco ball under the overhead lights. "What exactly am I looking at?"

You practically skipped over to him, the soft swish of your skirt catching his attention for just a second too long.

"It's called innovation. I color-coded everything—pink for cold cases, blue for active ones, purple for solved. Oh, and the glitter? That's to, you know, boost morale."

Aaron schooled his expression. "Love isn't the word I'd use."

Aaron stared at you, then at the glittery disaster. "Morale."

"Yep! Morale," you said, nodding. "It's proven that bright colors make people happier and more productive. Or... at least, I think I read that somewhere."

Aaron opened his mouth, then closed it again, momentarily at a loss. He'd been managing this filing system for years without so much as a single misplaced folder. Efficient. Logical. And now, his cabinets looked like they'd been hit by a craft store tornado.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling slowly. "Let me get this straight. You reorganized my filing system—without asking—and added glitter. For morale."

"And to make your life easier," you said with a grin. "You're welcome."

Aaron opened his mouth, but you weren't done.

"Also," you added, holding up a small floral notebook, "I wrote a guide for the system! Just in case anyone gets confused."

He blinked, unsure where to even begin.

'You added a guide?"

You nodded enthusiastically, twirling a pen with a little gem on the end between your fingers. "Uh-huh! You never know—someone might need it. I made it super clear, though, so even Derek can figure it out."

"You're saying Morgan needs help with file tabs?"

"Well," you said with a grin, "he's very action-oriented. This system's a little more... delicate."

Aaron stared at you, his expression giving nothing away. "Right. Delicate."

"It's perfect, isn't it?" you said, oblivious to his tone as you turned back to the cabinet and pulled out a folder. "See? You need a case file—bam! There it is. No digging, no hunting. Easy peasy, lemon squeezy."

He wanted to be irritated. Really, he did. But to his growing dismay, the system actually worked.

"It's... functional," he admitted reluctantly.

Your eyes widened, and you pressed a hand to your chest as if he'd just handed you the world's most heartfelt compliment. "Hotch! That's, like, the nicest thing you've ever said to me!"

"I wouldn't go that far," he said dryly, though the corners of his mouth twitched slightly.

You gasped dramatically, leaning against the cabinet with a grin. "I'll take it! Oh, this is the best day ever. I can't wait to tell Garcia. She's gonna lose her mind."

Aaron sighed, running a hand down his face. "Please don't."

"No promises!"

He shook his head, turning sharply toward his desk, as if reclaiming his focus were as simple as shifting direction. His hand moved automatically, landing squarely on the case file he’d been working on earlier. No fumbling. No sorting.

Aaron glanced at the filing cabinet again.

It was efficient. He hated that it was efficient.

And you—standing there with your floral tape and sparkly folders, looking so impossibly pleased with yourself��made it impossible for him to argue. He didn’t have the heart for it.

From his desk, Aaron glanced toward you. You were seated at your usual your spot, head bent over a stack of case files, highlighting passages with a bright pink marker. You were bathed in a warm light, and for once, you weren't humming under your breath or tapping your nails on the desk.

Aaron leaned back in his chair, watching as you quietly worked. Your hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail, a few strands framing your face, and your usual heels had been kicked off, leaving you in a pair of fluffy socks with little bows at the ankles. On the corner of your desk sat your water bottle, the words Sparkle Like You Mean It emblazoned across the side in bold script.

Aaron frowned slightly, returning his gaze to the papers in front of him, though his focus remained divided. You'd stayed late before, of course, but always with your usual energy--talking a mile a minute, asking endless questions, or filling the silence with offhanded comments. But this quieter version of you felt unfamiliar, and though Aaron knew he shouldn't, he found himself wondering why.

He cleared his throat. "You didn't have to stay this late."

You glanced up, startled, as if you'd forgotten he was there. Then you smiled, soft and easy. "It's not big deal. Besides, it's not like I have anything better to do."

Aaron raised a brow. "No plans to color-code your closet or reorganize your pantry?"

Your smile widened just a little, but the teasing edge he expected wasn't there.

"Already did that last weekend," you said lightly, returning to your files. "I figured this was a better use of my time." Better use of your time. The words seemed to hang in the air, unexpected and uncharacteristically serious.

He watched as you flipped to another page, carefully highlighting a section and jotting a note in the margin. Pink folders were stacked neatly beside you, each labeled in your unmistakable handwriting--looping, bubbly, with tiny hearts dotting every "i". The sight should have annoyed him. Should have.

Aaron wasn't sure how long he watched you before you looked up again, catching his gaze.

"What?" you asked, tilting your head, a faint smile playing at your lips.

"Nothing," he said, clearing his throat and looking back down at his file.

Silence settled between you again, the kind of quiet that felt heavy but not unpleasant. He could hear the faint swish of your marker against the page, the creak of his chair, and the soft sound of your breathing. And, without meaning to, Aaron found himself listening more closely than he should have.

The clock on the wall ticked past midnight by the time Aaron closed the last of his files. He rubbed a hand over his face, exhaustion beginning to set in. When he glanced up, he noticed you stifling a yawn, your shoulders slumping slightly as you stretched your arms over your head.

"You should go home," he said, his voice softer than usual.

You blinked, as if surprised by his tone, then shook your head. "Not yet. I'm almost done."

Aaron frowned. "You've done more than enough for one night. I'll finish the rest."

"No way," you said, a spark of your usual energy creeping back into your voice. "I said I'd help, and I'm gonna help. I mean, unless you're saying you don't trust me with this, boss?"

The corner of Aaron's mouth twitched. "That's not what I said."

"Good," you replied, sitting a little straighter and brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

He sighed, standing and crossing the room to your desk. As he approached, he noticed how quickly you shifted, as though trying to regain your usual poise.

"At least let me walk you to your car when you're done," he said, his tone low but firm.

You glanced up at him, and for a moment, something soft flickered in your expression. Then you smiled, teasing but lighter than usual. "What, are you afraid I'm going to trip over my own two feet in the parking lot?"

He regarded you for a moment, his face unreadable. Then, with a faint twitch of his lips, he replied, "It's not entirely out of the question."

You laughed, pushing your chair back as you gathered your things. "Well, I guess it's good to have an FBI escort. You never know when the sidewalks might strike."

He stepped aside, letting you pass, and followed as you made your way into the hall. You cradled the papers to your chest, your ponytail swaying gently with each step. A strange, nameless feeling pressed at the edges of his mind.

"You know," you said as you pressed the elevator button, glancing at him with a grin, "I think you're starting to like me, Boss Man."

He raised an eyebrow. "Starting to?"

You laughed, the corners of your eyes crinkling as your grin widened. "Oh, so it’s official then. We’re besties."

Aaron waited until the elevator doors opened, stepping inside before glancing at you. With a small smirk, he said, "If that’s what you want to call it."

Aaron's pen stilled in his hand, the soft scratch of it against paper replaced by the voices rising behind him. He didn't react immediately—he rarely did. Years of leadership had taught him the value of restraint.

But then he heard it.

"Damn," one officer muttered, the smirk practically audible in his voice. "If that's what the FBI's hiring, sign me up."

His colleague snorted. "She might not know how to handle evidence, but she's definitely handling that skirt."

Aaron's shoulders stiffened. His eyes stayed on the profile in front of him, even as the words began to blur. His fingers curled tightly around the pen, the slight tremor in his grip betraying the simmer of irritation he fought to contain. Normally, he could ignore the noise, let it slide off his back, but the sound of their laughter grated against him, making his jaw clench.

"Wonder if her job description includes anything extra," another voice chimed in.

"Bet the boss has her bending over files all day. Lucky bastard."

Aaron's head lifted slightly, his sharp gaze flicking to you. You were still focused on the corkboard, entirely oblivious to the attention you were drawing. Your fingers tugged at a pinned map, your heels lifting off the ground as you reached higher, and the hem of your skirt crept up just enough to draw another low whistle from one of the men.

Aaron set his pen down carefully, his fingers flexing against the table.

"If she reaches any further, I'm gonna owe her dinner," one of them added, his laugh rumbling through the room.

Aaron's chest tightened, heat rising uncomfortably in his veins. He could feel the pulse in his temple, his irritation mounting with each word.

"I don't doubt she's great at after-hours work."

Aaron didn't hesitate, stepping forward with quiet, calculated purpose. The officers’ laughter sputtered and died as they registered his approach, their bodies stiffening in response.

He stopped just close enough to unsettle, positioning himself squarely in their line of sight. His broad shoulders blocked their view of you entirely, his gaze cold and unflinching—a silent warning that left no room for misinterpretation.

He stood there for a beat too long, letting the tension grow. The officers shifted awkwardly under the weight of his stare.

"Hotch?"

Aaron turned, his expression easing as his eyes met yours. You stood by the corkboard, one hand absently adjusting a pin, your head tilted in question.

"Everything okay?" you asked, your brows knitting slightly.

"Fine," he said, his tone smoothing out as he addressed you. "Are you finished?"

You glanced at the board, tilting your head before stepping back to inspect your work. "Almost. Just need to add one more report. Be right back."

You gave him a quick smile before heading toward the other side of the room, your heels clicking softly against the floor. Aaron's gaze followed you briefly before returning to the officers in front of him.

They shifted awkwardly under his unrelenting stare, their earlier smugness dissolving into unease.

Aaron's voice was quiet, almost too quiet. "If you have time to make inappropriate comments, I assume your reports are finished and flawless."

One of the officers opened his mouth, but Aaron held up a hand, silencing him before a single word could escape.

"I don't tolerate disrespect on my team. If you feel the need to revisit what professionalism looks like, I'm sure your supervisor will be happy to help."

"Yes, sir," the first man mumbled, his face burning.

"Understood," the second added quickly.

Aaron stood there for a moment longer, his jaw tight as he exhaled slowly. With a sharp pivot, he returned to the table, his expression composed once more as he resumed his place at the head of the team.

A few minutes later, you appeared beside him again, balancing another stack of papers. His gaze flicked to you almost instinctively, his expression softening before he even realized it. The shift was subtle, natural—something he didn’t let himself dwell on.

The knock at Aaron's door was sharp, urgent, and loud enough to pull him from the lull he was trying to fight against by pouring water into the coffee maker.

He crossed the room in three long strides, his body reacting on instinct before his thoughts could catch up. A million scenarios flashed through his mind, each one worse than the last—someone hurt, an emergency. By the time he reached the door, his hand on the knob, his breath felt tight.

What he didn't expect was you.

You stood in the hallway, frozen in place, your hand still half-raised from knocking. Your sweatshirt hung loosely off one shoulder, the hem unevenly bunched, and your sock-covered feet shuffled against the carpet like you were contemplating bolting. But it wasn't just your disheveled appearance that hit him like a freight train.

It was your eyes.

Tears hovered on your lashes, catching the hallway light like fragile drops of glass, ready to fall at any moment. Your lips parted, trembling slightly as though forming words that never came.

Your lips parted as if to speak, but no words came, and the sight of you--glassy eyes, unshed tears bubbling as if they were waiting for permission to fall--hit him like a gut punch. The look in your eyes—raw and exposed, holding back a flood of emotions—struck him with a force that knocked the air from his lungs.

For a moment, all Aaron could do was stare. His mind raced, scanning your face for clues, cataloging your every movement like a case profile.

Aaron had spent the entire day watching you more closely than he cared to admit. He hadn't said anything—hadn't wanted to overwhelm you—but this had been your first real exposure to the kind of cases the BAU handled. You’d tried to bury your discomfort under a sunny smile, but he’d seen it anyway—the way you avoided looking at the crime scene photos, the nervous energy in your hands when someone mentioned the unsub.

He'd seen it all, and now, standing in front of you, the weight of his worry hit him full force.

"Are you okay?" His voice was sharper than he intended, but he couldn't stop the questions from spilling out. "Are you hurt? Did something happen?"

Your lips parted, but no sound came out at first. You shook your head quickly, your hands twisting in the hem of your sweatshirt.

"No—I'm fine," you said, though your trembling voice and red-rimmed eyes told a different story. "I just—I couldn't sleep."

Aaron’s jaw tightened, his gaze sweeping over you once more, lingering on your tear-streaked eyes and the way your shoulders curled inward, as though shielding yourself from an invisible blow. His mind raced, unwilling to accept your answer at face value.

He opened the door wider, stepping aside.

"Come in," he said firmly, his voice low but steady.

You hesitated for a moment before stepping inside, your movements slow and uncertain.

The door clicked shut behind you as Aaron turned, his focus still trained on you. You stood frozen in the center of the room, arms wrapped tightly around yourself, your fingers nervously twisting the hem of your sweatshirt. Tears clung stubbornly to your lashes, and for one heart-stopping moment, Aaron forgot how to breathe.

"What's going on?" he asked, his tone softer now but no less serious.

You glanced at him, your lip trembling as you struggled to find the words. Finally, you let out a shaky breath, your voice cracking as you spoke. "I can't stop thinking about the unsub. About what he did. I just... It's like.... it's haunting me."

Aaron stayed rooted in place, his hands curling into loose fists at his sides as he forced himself to speak evenly.

"It's hard to turn it off," he said. "Especially the first time. I know."

"All those people," you continued, your gaze dropping to the floor. "And he didn't care. Not even a little. He just—he just did it, like it didn't even matter. How can someone be like that? How can someone be so... empty?"

Aaron stayed quiet for a moment, watching as your gaze stayed fixed on the floor. He recognized that look—the hollow kind of disbelief that came with trying to reconcile the worst parts of humanity. He'd seen it in new agents, in victims, even in himself. And now he saw it in you.

"People like him don't think the way we do," he said finally, his voice calm but firm. "You can't make sense of it because it doesn't make sense. You're not supposed to understand someone like that."

You looked up at him, your brows knitting together as you searched his face.

"But why?" you asked, your voice cracking again. "Why would someone want to hurt people like that? Just for... for no reason?"

Aaron exhaled softly, his hands resting on his hips as he glanced away for a moment. It wasn't an easy answer—not one he could sum up in a way that would make this any less awful for you.

"People like him don't think the way we do," he said, choosing his words carefully. "To him, it's not about right or wrong. It's about control. Power. That's all he understands. It's not something you can rationalize."

Your arms tightened around yourself, and you looked away, your teeth worrying your bottom lip.

"I just keep thinking about everything they went through—all those people. Like, I can't stop picturing it, and it's just... it's too much." You exhaled shakily, your voice trembling. "I know this is your world, but it's... it's really awful."

Aaron stepped closer.

"It's your first case," he said. "And it's normal to feel overwhelmed by it. This kind of work—it takes a toll. On everyone."

You let out a shaky laugh, swiping at your eyes with the sleeve of your sweatshirt. "Do you ever get used to it?"

Aaron paused, considering the question.

"You learn how to handle it," he said finally. "You focus on what you can control. On what you can do to stop it."

Your nod was faint, tentative, and the tension in your shoulders didn’t ease, not completely. He’d pieced others back together before, often without a second thought, but with you, the need to protect and steady you felt far more personal.

"You should try to get some sleep."

"I don't want to go back to my room," you said suddenly, the words tumbling out before you could stop them.

He froze, his back to you as he processed what you'd just said. When he turned, you were staring at him, wide-eyed and wringing your hands.

"Not in your bed!" you added hastily, gesturing toward the spare bed in the corner of the room. "I mean—not with you. Just, like, over there. In the other bed. So I'm not alone. You know, because... nightmares."

You pressed your lips together as you continued. "Don't worry, I'm not making some grand declaration of love or trying to seduce you or anything. Promise."

Aaron's lips twitched faintly, but the humor didn't quite reach his eyes. He took in the way your breathing hitched, your hands still at your sides, fingers clenching and unclenching as if searching for something to hold onto. He could see it—how hard you were trying to smooth over the cracks, trying to make the moment lighter than it was.

He hesitated, his thoughts swirling. Having you in the room—spare bed or not—introduced complexities he wasn’t ready to address. His gaze flicked to the empty bed and then back to you, taking in the way you shifted nervously under his silence.

Aaron raised a brow, his tone wry but gentle. "Well, I guess I'll have to cancel the champagne and roses."

Your laugh came quickly, a little more genuine this time. "Okay, now you're just mocking me."

His expression softened, and he gestured toward the spare bed. "Stay as long as you need. It's fine."

"Thanks, boss," you said, standing and moving toward the spare bed. "Promise I won't snore—or, if I do, I'll deny it forever."

Aaron didn't answer right away. He followed you to the bedside, crouching down until you were eye level.

"If you need anything," he said, his voice low, "wake me up. Understood?"

Your smile wavered for a second before you nodded. "Okay."

He stayed there for a beat longer, his gaze searching yours, before standing. When he finally stepped back, you had already drawn the blanket around yourself. Without a second thought, he leaned down and adjusted the corner over your shoulder, his hand lingering for the briefest moment before he straightened.

As he settled into his own bed, he glanced over at you one last time, taking in the way your lashes fluttered against your cheeks as you drifted closer to sleep.

It wasn't in his nature to dwell—not on things he couldn't change. But as he stared at the ceiling, the image of your tearful expression stayed with him. He'd seen it coming, the way this case had worn on you, and he'd worried all day about how it would hit you when things finally went quiet.

Aaron exhaled softly, rolling onto his back as he closed his eyes. This job didn't leave room for many absolutes, but he was certain of one thing: he'd make sure you never felt that way again.

Aaron sat at the far end of the table, his customary spot for team dinners, where he could watch over everyone without drawing much attention to himself. Usually, his gaze moved easily from one teammate to the next, but tonight, it kept circling back to you.

You were seated next to him, close enough that he could catch the faintest hint of your perfume, something light and sweet that lingered every time you shifted in your chair. The warm lighting of the restaurant cast a soft glow on your skin, highlighting the curve of your jaw when you laughed, the way your lips curved upward with such natural ease that it felt like a magnet for his attention.

He'd spent much of the evening trying to appear unaffected, keeping his gaze on the table or his plate or even his wine glass when he felt himself watching you for too long. But you weren't making it easy.

"Hotch, you have to try this," you said, holding out your fork, a small piece of bruschetta balanced precariously on the edge. "It's amazing."

"I'm fine," he replied automatically, though his lips twitched slightly as he glanced at you.

You rolled your eyes, leaning just a fraction closer. "You're always fine. Live a little—this is life-changing bruschetta."

The team chuckled softly, but Aaron barely noticed.

He sighed quietly, relenting, and took the offered bite. The warmth of your fingers brushed his when you handed him the fork, and he swallowed quickly. The bruschetta tasted fine—probably great, even—but the flavor barely registered.

"Well?" you prompted, your head tilting slightly as you watched him expectantly.

"It's good," he said, his voice even, though he felt anything but.

You grinned, satisfied, and turned back to your plate, your shoulder brushing his in the process. The touch lingered for a second too long—or maybe it didn't, but it still sent a wave of heat up his spine.

Aaron reached for his water glass, more to ground himself than anything else, and found your hand there first. Your fingers bumped his as you pulled back, your eyes darting to his with a flicker of apology that melted into something softer.

"Sorry," you murmured lightly, though the smile curving your lips made it clear you were anything but.

He shook his head slightly, his chest tightening in a way he couldn't fully explain. How had this happened? How had you, so unapologetically bright and warm, managed to work your way into his life so seamlessly that he now couldn't imagine it without you?

Across the table, Emily made a comment about the case, and you chimed in, your voice as animated as ever. Aaron listened, though his attention strayed to the way you gestured when you spoke, the soft movement of your hands, the way your lips curved when you made a point.

"This place is so cute," you said brightly, glancing around at the rustic décor. "I mean, it's no Olive Garden, but still, it's got charm."

Across the table, Derek snorted, folding his arms. "Olive Garden? That's your gold standard for Italian food?"

You gave him an incredulous look. "Are you saying unlimited breadsticks and salad aren't the peak of dining luxury?"

Emily raised her glass with a smirk. "I feel like we're learning a lot about you tonight."

A laugh bubbled out of you when Emily made a dry joke, and Aaron couldn't help but feel the corners of his own mouth lift in response. He glanced away quickly, hoping no one noticed, but when his eyes drifted back to you, you were already looking at him.

Your smile softened, your gaze lingering on his for a moment longer than it should have. Aaron cleared his throat, shifting in his seat as his hand brushed against yours under the table.

The light pressure of your fingers against his was brief but intentional, and Aaron's chest tightened as he realized how quickly he was starting to crave these small moments—moments that, not long ago, he would have never allowed himself to have.

You didn't pull away immediately, your fingertips grazing his before the noise of the team pulled you back to the conversation. It was subtle, so subtle that the others might have missed it entirely, but JJ didn't. She raised a brow, her gaze flicking between the two of you.

"So," JJ said, her tone casual but edged with curiosity. "How long has this been going on?"

Your hand froze mid-reach for the butter, and you glanced at her with wide eyes. "What's been going on?"

Spencer Reid tilted his head, his gaze narrowing as he studied you and Aaron. "You and Hotch."

Your eyes darted to Aaron, who had straightened slightly in his seat. He didn't look uncomfortable, but there was a flicker of something in his expression—something softer than his usual stoicism.

"Depends," you said, flashing a teasing smile. "How long do you think it's been?"

Derek leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest as he chuckled. "Oh, you're good. Deflecting like a pro."

"It's not deflecting," you said, feigning offense. "It's a legitimate question."

Aaron sighed quietly, setting his glass down with a soft clink. "It's been a few months."

The table fell silent for a moment.

"A few months?" Emily repeated, her brow arching. "And you didn't think to mention it?"

"It's not like we were hiding it," you said quickly, glancing at Aaron. "Right?"

"We just weren't announcing it."

"Well, it's about damn time," Derek said, breaking the silence with a wide grin. "Seriously, Hotch. I was starting to think you didn't have it in you."

Aaron gave him a look, though the faint twitch of his lips betrayed his amusement. "It's not up for discussion, Morgan."

"Noted," Derek said, his grin unrelenting.

You leaned closer to Aaron, your shoulder brushing his as you lowered your voice. "Think we'll ever live this down?"

"Doubtful."

The conversation shifted, the focus moving to Spencer's latest trivia tangent and JJ's plans for an upcoming weekend with her family. But as the night wore on, Aaron found himself more at ease than he'd expected.

At one point, you leaned over to steal a bite of his pasta, and he let you, his lips twitching into a faint smile when you made a show of how much better his dish was than yours.

By the end of the evening, as the team trickled out of the restaurant one by one, Aaron found himself standing beside you near the entrance, his hand resting lightly on the small of your back.

"That wasn't so bad," you said, tilting your head up to look at him.

"No," he agreed, his voice quiet. "It wasn't."

You smiled, leaning slightly into his touch. "See? Told you they'd be fine with it."

He huffed softly, shaking his head. "I think Morgan's already planning his next round of questions."

"Probably," you admitted with a laugh. "But, hey, it's progress. You smiled twice��tonight."

His lips twitched slightly, though he shook his head in mock exasperation. "Twice, huh? You're keeping count now?"

"Absolutely," you teased, leaning a little closer. "I'm very goal-oriented, you know. Almost got a smile out of you with my pen trick, too, but you were a little too busy that day."

Aaron frowned slightly, his brow furrowing. "Pen trick?"

"Oh, come on, Hotch," you said, rolling your eyes with a grin. "That was my totally genius plan to get you to notice me. Thought maybe you'd smile, maybe even flirt back, but no—you shut me down with the whole, that's not mine. Absolutely brutal."

His frown deepened as he stared at you, trying to process your words. "You planned that?"

"Obviously," you replied. "I saw you walking by all serious and handsome, and I thought, why not? Of course, I didn't realize I was interviewing to be your assistant. That kind of killed the whole plan."

He tilted his head, his lips twitching into a faint smirk. "Killed it how?"

"Well," you said, giving him an exaggerated shrug, "if I'd known you were the guy in charge, I would've worn something with more cleavage. Really sell it, you know?"

Aaron stared at you for a moment, then leaned in slightly, his voice low and dry. "There's still time to test that theory."

You gasped, swatting at him as your laughter bubbled up. "Aaron Hotchner, are you flirting with me?"

"I don't know," he replied smoothly, his lips twitching into an almost-smile. "Did it work?"

You looped your arm through his, your grin softening into something fonder. "A little late for flirting now, boss. You've already got me."

"Good to know."

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#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner x bimbo reader #aaron hotchner x bimbo!assistant!reader #hotch #hotchner #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x bimbo assistant reader

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3verythingiknowaboutlove · 2 days ago

Text

say yes to heaven

how spencer and you deal (or don't deal) with the fact that he doesn’t want a baby anymore after coming home from prison, and you really do.

MDNI | angst

word count: 2226 warnings & tags & stuff: bau!reader, avoidant!reader, avoidant spencer, no happy ending (wtf), reader wants a baby, one line about reader not having a certain religious belief, they like almost have sex, spencer undresses reader, lots of talk about a condom, they dont really fight at all?, very underdeveloped/bad description of quantum immortality author's note: heyyyyy guyss whats up..... this is a different vibe to my regular stuff and i fear it may be really ooc?? i don't know how to feel but i literally have to post or i'll go even more crazy sooo here we are!! have a delightful day, let me know your thoughts if you have any, ily!!!

Antique shops, you and Spencer have decided, are the hidden gems of this nation yet to be appreciated enough by the general public.

Each town or city you visit is bound to have one, and going to them has become a little celebratory tradition. In the early mornings after cases are solved, right before the plane ride home, you take a look around. You’re typically the first and only ones in the store, wandering with intertwined hands and sipping on ‘2 extra foamy cappuccinos with an additional shot of espresso, please’ and occasionally, but not necessarily, choosing something to take back to D.C.

You’ve been trying your absolute hardest to fill your home to the brim– sometimes with objects, and other times with words, or touch, or the ever so valuable and fleeting concept of shared time– in effort to replace what had been lost in that three month long period when it was completely devoid of tangible, fresh love.

It’s today you’re wandering through a quaint, very cluttered shop in western Oregon, the Pacific visible from the store’s windows.

Wheels up in an hour. Don’t be late. Hotch’s text buzzes in your pocket, but you barely glance at it– there’s something about the Oregon coast that reaches into your heart and gives it a gentle massage, enveloping you in a refreshing lack of urgency.

Spencer, in his own peaceful world, is staring at a tall wall of books. He reaches out to pick up a dusty rendition of Moby Dick, carefully cracking it open to the first few pages to check the publication date, brow scrunching as he reads. You go to peer over his arm to check as well, when something catches the corner of your eye. You let go of his hand to inspect.

A bassinet. Dark wood, surface polished to a faint sheen, with intricate little waves engraved on the sides, like the ocean’s misty outreach had come all the way into the shop and placed this here for you to see.

You weren’t exactly sure when this now familiar ache had started; this deep, internal desire felt in your stomach for a little hand to be gripped around your pointer and for tiny onesies to fill your laundry basket, but you’re sure, with every fiber of your being, that you want it to be there.

“Spence,” you say softly, voice jarring in the otherwise stillness of the shop. “Come look.” He carefully closes the book and puts it back where it was and pads over, looking down at the bassinet. His eyebrows raise slightly.

“Wow. It looks like it was made in the 80s, maybe even earlier. You won’t find any level of detailing more recently than that, it’s too labor intensive for modern production methods. Good find.”

“I know. Should we get it?” you ask, biting a smile. He quickly meets your eyes, brow raising slightly.

“Do you want to?” he asks, voice even.

“I mean, I just think it’s really cute, with the waves and stuff.” you say bashfully, nudging it with your toe so it rocks back and forth. Spencer swallows, adam's apple bobbing.

“Yeah, I just…” Spencer hesitates. “I don't think we’d be able to bring it on the jet. It would probably snap in half if we held it in the wrong way,” he says, making your brain race even though he hasn’t said a single thing that should cause it to do so.

“Oh.”

You blink.

“No, yeah, you’re totally right. It’s too inconvenient. You should get that copy of Moby Dick instead. That edition looked cool, with the forward explaining all the names,” you say gently, pushing a smile, nudging him back towards the shelf. He goes, shooting you one last glance as you move to observe a few clocks hanging on the wall.

Spencer doesn’t reach for your hand again when he comes back.

…

The house is quiet when you arrive back home, hours later. Spencer sets his bag down by the door, and yours goes next to his to be dealt with later.

Exhaustion from the case is heavy in your limbs; the long flight and the sleepless nights are seeping into your bones, but Spencer seems perfectly intent upon kissing it better. You rest your forehead on his chest, exhaling softly, contentedly, as he presses kiss after kiss into your hair. He gently rests his hands on your waist and pushes you against the door– not as an act of dominance, like if someone were viewing you two from afar might assume, but one of simple convenience.

His hand reaches up to tilt your chin to the position he wants. Before leaning in to your neck, he pauses.

“Are you sure you don’t just want to go to bed?” he asks. “You didn't sleep last night.” You shake your head, giving his cheek a small peck of your own.

“It’s one of those tireds where I can’t even think about sleep ever again.”

A small smile grows on his face.

“I bet I can change that,” Spencer offers, knuckles skimming over your waist. You smile and let him tug you upstairs to your room and guide your hips to sit on the bed. His hand cups the side of your jaw, as always, lips moving to press against yours in a soft, affectionate display of his adoration. His other hand moves to your waist, squeezing, and you shiver a little in response, making him hum gently.

His hands go underneath the hem of your top. “Okay?” he asks. You nod, lifting your arms to help. His eyes take their time tracing over you, but never in a way that couldn't be defined as sweet. His hand leaves your cheek and goes to the bedside table, sliding open the drawer. It draws toward the front left corner, as it always does, when it pauses. He turns to look at you, hesitating.

You, whose legs are now pulled up to your chest, chin resting on them. You stare at the yellow light of the lamp you and Spencer picked out months ago reflecting against those countless little squares of foil.

Your lips are drawn inwards, between your teeth, unable to help your mind from racing to other realities, ones where every detail is the very same, except Spencer chose not to open that drawer tonight.

…

Spencer explained the basis of quantum immortality to you a long time ago, in the early stages of your relationship, at a time so late in the night where a regular person would never be able to form coherent thoughts, let alone thoughts like these.

You were slumped over the kitchen island, peering at him as he wandered around, silently marveling at the preciousness of your boyfriend the world seemed to take for granted as he tried to get you to understand how cool this concept was.

“There’s also an interpretation of quantum mechanics proposed by a physicist named Hugh Everett which involves a ‘many worlds’ concept: essentially, it suggests that every possible outcome of an event creates its own branch of reality, meaning an infinite number of parallel worlds exist, each containing a version of events where everything that can happen, does happen,” he starts, widening his eyes for dramatic effect. “So quantum immortality is rooted in the concept that when we die in one timeline, we essentially just move on to the next one where every detail is the same except… well, you don’t die.”

He went on to emphatically talk about some guy’s cat in a box, but how this time, in a thought experiment that demonstrates this theory of immortality, you’re the cat.

You had pretty much lost him when he got to that part.

…

You blink, shoving the memory from your mind.

“You’re staring,” you point out quietly.

“You’re pretty,” Spencer responds. He sits next to you on the bed, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. You watch as his other hand fiddles with the condom he grabbed, running his thumb over the edges of the wrapper. His mouth opens and closes a few times before he says, “Did I do something?” You shake your head softly.

“Mm-mm.”

“Really? Because we’ve been sitting in silence and you haven’t stopped staring at the condom in my hand for the past two minutes.”

You exhale quietly, internally screaming at yourself to just spit it out.

It’s never been easy, being an agent dating an agent. Sure, agreements have been made to not profile each other, but with so many years of experience, small observations and connections about your partner’s nature are an automatic practice. You know that Spencer takes 3 sugars in his coffee just as well as you know he says your name more frequently and shortens his sentences when scared, almost like he tries to instead convey the appearance he’s mad.

You also know very well that you and Spencer have both been consciously avoiding this conversation like the plague, especially since his homecoming.

You gnaw at your lip, trying to think of something to say, but your mind can only come up with freaky images of cats that are simultaneously alive and dead until observed.

“`M sorry, I was just thinking. Lost in my mind.”

“Thinking about what?”

Relationships that are simultaneously kept and broken until a certain conversation is had.

“Um. Quantum immortality. Who’s that guy? Hugh Jackman?”

Spencer straightens, eyebrows raising a little. “Hugh Everett,” he supplies. His tone is gentle, coaxing. “You’ve been thinking about that? I told you about him months ago.”

He stands as you quietly think of a response, grabbing a hoodie from the closet to tug over your bare torso, letting his hand gently cradle the back of your head after doing so.

“Yeah. I did a little more reading on it. It’s kind of a nice thought I keep going back to. Obviously really, really scary when you think about it for too long. But nice in the sense that there’s probably a version of us out there somewhere where…” you trail off, suddenly extremely aware of the weight of your words.

He glances down to the condom he left on the comforter.

The thick silence that follows feels like it stretches across a thousand timelines, each one probably also filled with countless what-ifs and unspoken words and really bad communication, and at the very root of all of it, fear. That deep, gaping hole in both of your souls.

When Spencer finally looks at you, his eyes are so deep it takes your breath away. So deep that it jars you into just saying it.

“Spencer,” you begin, voice so quiet. “Do you still want kids?”

You find yourself shooting up a silent prayer to whoever is out there looking out for you– God or Isaac Newton or Hugh Everett or Jason Gideon:

Pleasesayyespleasesayyespleasesayyespleasesayyespleasesayyespleasesayyespleasesayyespleasesayyespleasesayyespleasesayyespleasesayyespleasesayyes.

When he doesn’t answer right away, you continue– a habit probably picked up from the person standing right in front of you. “I just feel like there was a time where we were almost talking about it, but then it… went away.”

He reaches out to gently take the condom you were now fiddling with and sets it back in the drawer, his hand resting on the edge of the table as if grounding himself. His face is soft, almost glowing in the dim yellow light.

“I know,” he starts, voice crackling at the edges.

You stay dead silent.

“I didn’t mean for it to go away,” Spencer says, the crack in his voice causing you to glance up and see his eyes brimming with unshed tears. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

You nod, shakily, though the perpetual ache in your stomach is sharper now, more like it’s a knife stabbing you through the gut.

“I get it,” you say, even though part of you doesn’t want to. “You don’t need to be sorry.” You can’t even bring yourself to think of the implications of what he just said– all you know is that there is something fundamentally different between you and Spencer that wasn’t there before.

“It’s not that I don’t want it. I do. You know I do. But I can’t. Not now.”

You reach out your hand for him to take.

“Spencer,” you whisper. “It’s okay. Really. We don’t have to talk about it any more.”

His lips press into a thin line, and you can tell he doesn’t believe you. Clearly. It wasn’t a statement said to be believed. There was nothing okay, at all, but this isn’t a fight- there’s nothing to fight about. There's just a quiet understanding. He nods, finally, and steps back. “We should get some sleep,” he says, his voice almost too soft to hear.

You watch as he pulls back the covers and slides into bed, still in his work clothes, leaving just enough space for you beside him. After a moment you curl up next to him because, despite everything, doing the alternative would be so much worse.

Spencer's arms wrap around you, his breath warm against the nape of your neck, and you close your eyes and let the silence settle over you both, feeling the steady beat of his heart against your back. Something you would have given anything to have not so long ago.

#spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fanfiction #piper’s works

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redshiftsinger · 16 hours ago

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Celebrities are human beings with weird jobs.

Like any group of human beings, the demographic "celebrities" contains both good people and assholes. Which can be further broken down into "good people whose good-person-ness is easy to see", "cranky/blunt but with a heart of gold under the rough exterior", "people who are mostly good-intentioned but often kinda fucking clueless", "people who are kind of assholes sometimes but not in any really serious ways, just like, interpersonally rude", "people who deliberately exploit others for personal gain", and "psychopaths who manage to convincingly pretend to be good people for years or even decades before the general public finds out they're actually psychopaths". And a bunch more shades of nuance.

Every single celebrity is just One Person and every individual person's actions are the actions of that one person, not of the demographic they belong to. Gaiman's actions are his own responsibility, not anyone else's unless they willfully, knowingly enabled. And he had a lot of people fooled for a very long time. Just because someone worked with him in the past doesn't mean they knew and kept it quiet. Abusers very often don't let most of the people they interact with day to day know about the abuse they engage in. It's kept quiet, it's hidden behind lies and omissions and the pretense of being A Good Person Who Would Never. Because they know it's wrong and unacceptable and that being caught at it would suck for them.

Remember that you don't (or might not) really know celebrities you're a fan of, you only see the face they show to the public. How much that's like the person they are in private varies wildly -- and having a public persona that's kept very separate from their personal life doesn't necessarily mean they're a bad person, it might just mean they like their privacy. Like, I don't know Dolly Parton but I would assume she's probably genuinely a good person. And also, I know I probably wouldn't even be able to recognize her if I saw her out of her Public Persona, because she goes to greater lengths than most celebrities to preserve her ability to move through public spaces unrecognized when she wants to, and her Persona includes a whole look, not just behavior and mannerisms. Some pretend to be very open about their personal life while actually most of what they show is a facade. Some are very reclusive and preserve their privacy by simply not appearing in public. And some are actually relatively open books. It's just another area in which the entire spectrum of human preference and choice can be represented. But anyway, odds are, you don't know them just because you've watched every interview they've ever done and met them at fan events a few times. Those are Public Persona settings.

And even if you do know them, even if they're actually very open-book types, they still don't know you and aren't your friend, no matter how you feel about them. And it's always healthy to keep perspective on that. Parasocial relationships aren't inherently bad, but they can become a problem for your mental health if you pin too much onto them. They're not meant to be load-bearing the way actual friendships are.

also. re: neil gaiman. for all the people wondering, "what if the celebrity I like turns out to be like him?" I just want to say a few more things-

now is a good time to evaluate your relationships with celebrities or internet personalities. this is just like, a healthy thing to do in general; I do it on a regular basis when considering the celebrities whose work I like. take a minute to think about how you feel about those people, and ask yourself how personal your attachment is to them. if you feel attached to them as you would a friend, family member, or partner, you may need to confront that.

if a celebrity you like turns out to have done something reprehensible, that doesn't make you a bad person for liking them in the past. you likely didn't know. if you loved neil gaiman's writing, and even if you still do, you don't have to feel guilty about it. however, you may want to reevaluate continuing to support them financially.

I deliberately said "celebrities whose work I like" earlier, because that's an important distinction to make- a celebrity's work is just their job. you can admire their work, and it can be very important to you, but at the end of the day, they are not their work. people will talk about "separating the art from the artist" when someone does something awful like gaiman, but I think this might even apply to celebrities you admire. for instance, I'm a big fan of tom waits' music. he has a very entertaining stage persona and is an extremely talented artist. as far as I'm aware, tom waits hasn't had any major controversies. but even so, it's important for me to remember that I adore tom waits' artistry, not tom waits himself. I do not want to become personally attached to someone I do not know.

just because neil gaiman did something awful, or because any number of celebrities did something awful, doesn't mean that you should be automatically suspicious of the ones that don't have allegations against them. it does mean that you should be wary of how you should attach to them, but it doesn't do to be paranoid about, for example, david tennant, because you were wounded by neil gaiman's actions. it does mean that you shouldn't form a parasocial attachment to david tennant (or anyone else), but it doesn't mean that he's also secretly an abuser, too.

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goldfades · 1 day ago

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★ HARD LAUNCH ───JOE BURROW

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 2k

⟢ ┈ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | requested by anon! kelce!sister x joe burrow, secret relationship.

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | obviously, taylor swift MENTIONED!! cause of course, i just had to. big brothers jason/travis, teasing, overall fluffy read

⟢ ┈ 𝐞𝐯'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 | this may be my new fav thing ever? having joe burrow, TAYLOR SWIFT, the kelces + kylie kelce in one family seems so fucking iconic and insane at the same time omg, i lowkey wanna make this a series

You don’t mean to catch his eye.

In fact, you’ve spent most of the evening trying very hard not to. At least, that’s what you’ll tell yourself later when the weight of it all feels too much, and you’re scrambling for a clean excuse to explain how it even started. Because that’s the thing about Joe Burrow—he’s not someone you plan for. He’s the unexpected storm on a clear day, knocking you off balance and leaving you to question if you’d ever been steady to begin with.

It’s Travis’s fault, really. Your brothers have this way of making themselves larger than life in every room they walk into, whether it’s Jason’s hearty laugh or Travis’s electric energy pulling people into his orbit. And you’re fine with it. Comfortable, even, in their shadows, where you can sip a beer, quietly people-watch, and dodge any unwanted attention. But tonight, at this NFL charity gala, the Kelce sibling spotlight is a little brighter, the event packed with athletes and reporters—people who know your last name. It’s harder to blend into the wallpaper, especially when you’re sandwiched between Jason’s dad jokes and Travis’s loud retelling of some outrageous offseason story.

And then there’s Joe. Sitting a few tables over, clad in a sleek black suit that fits him so well it’s borderline criminal, he looks… well, like Joe Burrow. Sharp jawline, blondish hair perfectly tousled, an air of calm confidence that somehow feels louder than any of the noise around him. He’s laughing at something—something Sam Hubbard said, probably—and you catch yourself staring just a second too long.

You’re not entirely sure who looks away first. All you know is that by the time the dessert plates are cleared and the speeches begin, you’re hyperaware of his presence. You can feel him across the room, like his attention is a physical thing brushing against your skin. It’s ridiculous, you tell yourself. He’s just... looking. It doesn’t mean anything.

Except it does.

It means everything when you’re stepping out onto the terrace for some air, your sleek, black and red YSL heels clicking softly against the stone, and you hear the door open behind you. You don’t have to turn around to know it’s him. There’s a shift in the atmosphere, a tension pulling taut like a string, and you’re suddenly grateful for the cool night air because your skin feels impossibly warm.

“You’re one of the Kelces, right?” His voice is low, a little rough around the edges, and somehow more disarming than you expected.

You glance over your shoulder, raising an eyebrow. “Depends. Do you think that’s a good thing or a bad thing?”

He chuckles, stepping closer. There’s a deliberateness to his movements, like he’s not the type to rush but always knows exactly where he’s going. “I haven’t decided yet.”

“Fair.” You turn fully now, leaning back against the railing. He’s even more striking up close, the sharp lines of his face softened by the golden glow of the terrace lights. For a moment, you’re not sure what to say. Then, because your brothers raised you to never back down from a challenge, you smirk. “And you’re Joe Burrow. Didn’t think you’d need an introduction.”

“I don’t. But I’m still glad we’re having this conversation.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t stop the small laugh that escapes. “Do lines like that usually work for you?”

“Don’t know,” he says, leaning casually against the railing beside you. “You tell me.”

And just like that, you’re hooked. Not in the obvious way, where fireworks explode and violins play in the background. It’s subtler than that, a slow burn you feel deep in your gut—like the start of something you shouldn’t want but can’t seem to resist. Because Joe Burrow isn’t the kind of guy you go looking for, but now that he’s found you, you’re not sure you want him to let go.

And a few months later, the relationship between you and Joe isn’t just an open secret—it’s become a storm of speculation. The internet sleuths had started piecing things together long before either of you admitted it, thanks to vague Instagram posts, overlapping locations and that one time someone spotted you in the background of a Bengals training camp photo.

Still, you’ve both remained tight-lipped, dodging questions and letting the rumors simmer on their own. It’s worked so far, but keeping something like this under wraps when your last name is Kelce and his is Burrow? It feels impossible most days.

The rumors, though, are front and center when Jason and Travis bring it up on New Heights. It starts innocently enough—one of their usual tangents about social media chaos. But then Jason, ever the instigator, leans in with a mischievous grin.

“So, Trav,” he says, dragging it out just enough to make Travis squint suspiciously. “What’s this I’m hearing about our baby sister and a certain quarterback?”

Travis groans dramatically, throwing his head back like he’s already tired of the conversation. “Man, here we go.”

“No, no, seriously,” Jason presses, laughing. “It’s all over Twitter. ‘Joe and the Kelce Sister’—people are going crazy.”

Travis tries to deflect, muttering something about people needing hobbies, but Jason isn’t letting it go.

“I mean, listen,” Jason continues, grinning directly at the camera now. “I’m not saying I believe it, but if it were true… Joe Burrow? Not a bad pick, kid. Not a bad pick.”

Travis finally gives in, throwing up his hands. “Alright, alright! Let’s settle this once and for all.” He swivels toward the camera with exaggerated seriousness. “Get her on the phone.”

The producers, who are clearly loving this, cut to a break while Travis pulls out his phone and FaceTimes you. You answer after a couple of rings, your face appearing on screen with a mix of amusement and mild annoyance.

“What do you want?” you ask, already bracing yourself.

Jason wastes no time. “Alright, tell the people: are you or are you not dating Joe Burrow?”

You roll your eyes, trying not to laugh. “Seriously? That’s why you called me?”

“Yes, seriously!” Jason says, leaning forward like he’s trying to peer through the phone. “I need to know if I should be worried about a potential Bengals-Kelce family feud.”

“I’m not even answering that,” you say, shaking your head. “You guys are ridiculous.”

“Okay, okay,” Travis cuts in, holding up his hands. “But just… hypothetically, if you were dating him, what would you say about the guy? Like, first impressions.”

You narrow your eyes at the screen, knowing exactly what he’s trying to do. But you can’t help it—you smirk, your tone deliberately nonchalant. “I mean, hypothetically… he’s not a bad-looking person.”

Both brothers lose it, Jason practically howling with laughter while Travis points dramatically at the camera. “Not a bad-looking person!” he repeats. “That’s all we’re getting?”

You shrug, keeping your expression as deadpan as possible. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“Alright, fine,” Jason says, wiping his eyes. “We’ll let you off the hook for now. But just know, we’re watching.”

You laugh, shaking your head as you hang up. But the damage is done—the clip is bound to go viral within hours. And you know the internet will analyze every single word you just said, dissecting it for confirmation that, yes, Joe Burrow and a Kelce sibling are absolutely a thing.

As you sit back on your couch, phone buzzing with texts from friends who caught the livestream, you can’t help but wonder how long you and Joe can keep this secret before it all inevitably comes spilling out. But for now, you smile to yourself, thinking about the way Joe teased you about your brothers earlier that morning. He’d probably find this whole thing hilarious.

—

The off-season brings a rare stretch of peace for both you and Joe, a time when the usual chaos of his schedule fades into long days and quiet nights. You’d been looking forward to the annual Kelce family lake trip all year, a week of boat rides, bonfires, and general shenanigans with your brothers, their partners, and a rotating cast of nieces and nephews. But this time, Joe is here too, woven seamlessly into the fabric of your family life in a way that's both surreal and comforting.

The trip itself is perfect. Joe is surprisingly great at keeping up with the Kelce energy—he plays cornhole with Travis like they’ve been doing it for years, listens patiently to Jason’s never-ending dad stories, and even lets your mom convince him to try her "world-famous" potato salad (a task not taken lightly). Your dad, famously hard to impress, quietly declares Joe "a good kid," which might as well be a five-star review.

The vibe is even more electric this year, thanks to a certain high-profile addition to the Kelce orbit: Taylor Swift. She’d tagged along with Travis, her easy charm and megawatt presence somehow blending seamlessly with your loud, loving family. Taylor and Joe hit it off surprisingly well—you’d caught them once, deep in conversation about some indie band neither of them expected the other to know. And when Taylor found out Joe was a secret Swiftie, she’d teased him mercilessly, promising to quiz him on song lyrics over dinner.

The two of you have been careful so far, sticking to the usual boundaries when phones are out and cameras are snapping. But then comes the moment. The hard launch.

You don’t know he’s planning it. It’s Joe, after all—calm, collected, never one to do anything impulsive without a hundred layers of thought. The picture goes live on his Instagram late in the afternoon, just as the sun is starting to dip below the trees.

The photo is subtle in that effortless, Joe Burrow way, but anyone with eyes can see what it is. It’s a snapshot of the dock, golden light reflecting off the water. You’re sitting with your back to the camera, legs dangling off the edge, wearing an oversized Bengals hoodie that could only belong to one person. Joe’s in the frame too, though only partially—just his legs stretched out next to you, and his hand resting casually on your knee. There’s no caption, just the kind of emoji Joe loves to use, simple and vague—a single wave 🌊

The internet explodes.

You realize it’s out when your phone starts buzzing nonstop, notifications lighting up your screen like fireworks. Group texts, Instagram DMs, Twitter tags—everyone and their mom has an opinion about the post. Your brothers are the first to call.

Joe wanders into the kitchen then, shirtless and still damp from a swim, his hair curling slightly from the lake water. He raises an eyebrow when he sees you on the phone, and you wave him over, switching to speaker.

“Speaking of,” Jason says loudly. “Joey! Nice post, buddy.”

Joe smirks, leaning casually against the counter. “Thanks. Figured it was time.”

“Time?!” Travis is howling now. “You just dropped the most casual ‘we’re dating’ announcement of all time, and all you’ve got is ‘figured it was time’?”

Joe shrugs, unbothered. “Seemed like the right vibe.”

Jason sighs dramatically. “Well, congrats, I guess. You’re officially one of us now.”

“Welcome to the family,” Travis chimes in, still laughing. “But just know, you’re never gonna live this down.”

Joe grins, glancing at you, his expression softening. “I can handle it.”

Later that night, as the two of you sit by the fire, Taylor strumming a guitar nearby while your brothers argue about s’mores ratios, your phone buzzes intermittently with notifications. You can’t help but marvel at how unshaken Joe is by all of it. He just laughs when you bring it up, pulling you closer and resting his chin on your shoulder.

“Let them talk,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple. “We’ve got nothing to hide anymore.”

And as the fire crackles and your family’s laughter drifts through the night, you realize he’s right. The world knows now, and somehow, it doesn’t feel scary—it feels freeing.

#nfl fic #nfl football #joe burrow #cincinnati bengals #joe burrow fan fic #joe burrow smut #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow bengals #joe burrow x y/n #joe burrow x you #joe burrow x oc

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0cta9on · 10 hours ago

Text

Moon Rabbit

Length: +12k words

Genre: Smut

Gfriend/Viviz Eunha x Male Reader

(Author's Note: This is like 90% story and 10% smut, but I hope y'all enjoy anyways :> Thank you to @msafterhours for beta, this story wouldn't be alive without you <3 Enjoy!)

【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★

Amongst the monotonous drone of the harsh fluorescent lights and the mysterious smell emanating from the bathrooms, it’s hard not to feel a little pessimistic about life. It would be so easy to air out your long list of grievances to anyone that’ll listen, but complaining to the kind of people this place attracts—late night travelers who’d struggle putting two and two together— is always more trouble than it’s worth.

“Welcome to 7/11!”

The ring of the entrance chime followed by the soft yet enthusiastic voice of your coworker is a constant that you have yet to get used to, even after a whole three weeks of hearing it nonstop. You told Eunha plenty of times before that she doesn’t have to greet the customers, yet she continues to do so anyway, something about “responsibility” and “upholding the company’s image”—as if the company’s image isn’t rotisserie hot dogs and gallon-sized slushies.

At best, she’ll get a polite nod, at worst, they scoff and act as if a simple gesture is the worst thing that’s ever happened to them. Her greetings might be more suited to the morning crowd, but she insists that she’s not much of a morning person. You don’t exactly care enough to verify her statements, so you’re content with her keeping you company during the night shift.

“Let me know if you need help with anything!” Eunha calls out to the customer as he aimlessly wanders through the aisles. You’ve grown accustomed to the late night visits from these kinds of people, guys in their early 20’s who seem either too drunk and/or faded to respond properly; hopefully, he’ll just quietly pay for his things and leave without any trouble.

“Yo,” he utters, carelessly dropping a single beer can and a box of large condoms onto the counter. You give him a curt nod, trying not to make a face as the violent stench of weed attacks your nostrils. Figures.

“$7.50.”

“Hey bro, do you know if that chick over there has a boyfriend?” He looks over at Eunha as she stocks the shelves, baggy eyes tracing her body through a half-lidded gaze. You simply shrug. Whatever she does outside of work is none of your business.

The man chuckles to himself, grabbing his things off the counter. “Watch this.” He saunters over to her and engages in a conversation that you can’t quite make out. Even as you try to distract yourself with other work, you can’t help but tense up slightly, stealing glances towards your coworker.

Eunha puts on her signature smile, nodding her head to everything he’s saying. Occasionally she’ll laugh, more so out of politeness than anything. If you would have to describe her with one word, “polite” would probably be enough. Maybe overly so, but hey, who’re you to judge her of all people about small talk?

Then, you notice a small crack in her expression. The corners of her lips drop ever so slightly. Her eyes widen just a smidge. Now he’s walking towards her, backing her up into a corner, like a predator stalking its prey.

You’ve learned not to stick your nose into other people’s business; even the simple act of lending an ear has cost you time and energy that ultimately led you to getting kicked to the curb the second you’re no longer of use. It’s exhausting. You’d do anything to forget that kind of pain, even if it means your existence is a bit lonelier. And yet, despite your better judgment, you grab a spare broom and begin sweeping towards the problem, stepping in between them right as Eunha’s back hits one of the fridges.

“Excuse me,” you mutter, your eyes never leaving the ground.

“Bro, what the fuck are you—”

“I’m trying to do my job,” you state, jerking your neck to glare at him. The man scoffs in annoyance before stomping towards the exit, grumbling incoherently while he knocks a couple chip bags off the shelves.

“Thanks,” Eunha says, breathing a sigh of relief. “He kept asking for my number and wouldn’t stop after I said ‘no’. I don’t know what would’ve happened if you weren’t here.”

You shrug, continuing to sweep the rest of the store. In hindsight, there might not have been a need for you to intervene in the first place; Eunha is a grown woman that can probably take care of herself, and what kind of damage could a guy like that do anyways? Yet, despite everything, you still chose to play the hero. What’s done is done.

As you go back to your place by the register, you notice Eunha beaming brighter than ever before despite no one else being around.

______________________________________________________________

Eunha groans, face planting into the counter. “I’m bored.”

“You could deep clean the coffee machine,” you suggest, eliciting an even louder groan from her.

You think about telling her to switch to the afternoon shift, but refrain from it in the end, figuring she probably has her own reasons for wanting to work this late. You chose the night shift out of necessity more than anything. Countless sleepless nights led you to the conclusion that you might as well get some compensation for your suffering.

Eunha’s face suddenly lights up as she goes over to the fridges and grabs two beer cans. “We should drink!” she says.

“Those are for the customers,” you state.

“I’ll pay for them, dummy. Besides, there’s literally nothing else to do. No one has stopped by for hours.”

You stare at her pleading face, slightly impressed by how well she manages to pull off “puppy-dog eyes”. You don’t consider yourself much of a drinker—going down that road only left you with an unbearable sickness that made “taking the edge off” not even worth it—but a hunch in the back of your mind tells you to go for it anyways. Maybe “puppy-dog eyes” actually do work; maybe the boredom’s gotten to you too.

“Woohoo!” she cheers. “Let’s go sit out front! I wanna look at the stars.” Eunha grabs the cans and a large bag of chips from the shelf before running out of the store with the excitement of a kid in a candy store. With a sigh, you follow behind her.

Your breath catches in your throat as the outside chill hits you like a speeding train, sending an unpleasant shiver through your spine that makes you regret even considering this stupid idea. You turn to retreat back to the warmth of the store, but a brief glimpse of Eunha waving you down with such genuine enthusiasm pulls you in, and before you can even think to stop yourself, you’re already grabbing the beer can from her outstretched hand.

“Isn’t it beautiful tonight?” she comments, gazing up at the stars above. It’s… nice. Better than the harsh fluorescent lights of the store, for sure.

“Yeah,” you utter, taking a swig from your can. You grimace at the bitterness, a reminder of why you stopped in the first place.

“Woah pal, I don’t need to hear your life story,” she quips, chuckling at her own joke. “Isn’t this better than being stuck in that smelly old store all night?”

You shrug. “It’s… alright, I guess.”

She stares at you for a while, studying your expression with a focused squint.

“...What?” you mutter, suddenly feeling self-conscious under her gaze.

“Nothing, sorry.” She shakes her head, her gaze falling to the unopened beer in her hands. A tense moment passes before she finally clicks it open and takes a small sip, wincing as she swallows the bitter liquid. “Um, do you… hate me or something?”

You turn to her in confusion. “Hate” isn’t a word you associate with Eunha. Truly, you don’t think anyone could hate someone like her. Maybe you get a little irked by her inability to set up the shelves properly, but nobody’s perfect, least of all you. In fact, you don’t have any strong feelings about her one way or another. She’s just your coworker.

Just that.

Nothing else.

“No, not at all,” you reply.

A small grin forms on Eunha’s lips. “That’s good. I was worried that maybe I did something and that’s why you never talk to me.”

Huh? “I talk to you.”

“Yeah, no, I mean, like, really talking. Not just about work and stuff,” she explains. “We’ve been working together for, like, months and I barely know anything about you!”

“It’s barely been three weeks,” you correct her, earning a dramatic eye roll. “Do you really need to know anything about me to work here?”

Eunha grimaces at your answer. “I guess not, but it would be nice to know if I’m working with a serial killer or not.” She takes another small sip from her can, tension seeping into the frigid air between you two.

“I’m not a serial killer,” you state.

“Well, I wouldn’t know that if you didn’t tell me.”

“I could be lying.”

She turns to you, studying your expression with an intense focus. “Hmm… I don’t think you’re lying.”

“You think?” You raise an eyebrow at her.

She shrugs. “For starters, aren’t most serial killers supposed to be charming to lure in their victims and stuff? No offense, but you’re the least charming person I’ve ever met.”

“Better than being a serial killer I guess.”

She chuckles to herself, dissolving any lingering tension in the air. “So you have a sense of humor. That’s good to know.”

“I guess I do.”

Eunha lifts her can towards you, flashing you a warm smile that wards away the bitter winds. You watch as the corners of her lips curl at a certain angle, her eyes squinting ever so slightly to make room to smile even wider. How impossibly white and symmetrical her teeth are, as if god or whoever is up there took their time creating her. In hindsight, she’s probably perfect for this job - kind, inviting, instantly putting you at ease with a single glance. A smile seems so natural on her, it feels like the sky would fall if it disappeared from her face for even a moment.

“Hello?” She waves her hand in front of your face. “My arm is getting tired here, are you gonna cheers me or not?”

You shake your head. “Right. Sorry.” You clink your can against hers before bringing it to your lips. The bitter taste of alcohol is nonexistent at this point, replaced by subtle yet present undertones of sweetness. You peek through the top of the can, confirming that it’s still the same old cheap beer it was mere seconds ago. Yet, for now, it’s just a little more bearable.

______________________________________________________________

To put it lightly, this fucking sucks.

The shadows dance and jeer at you from your ceiling as if to celebrate your misfortune. All you can do is watch the show play out as you barely cling to life. An earlier Google search of your symptoms tells you that it’s just “a common cold”, but you’d swear Death itself has a personal vendetta with you, cursing you with rusty lungs and cinder blocks for limbs. Regretfully, you retrieve your phone from your nightstand, sending Eunha a text that you aren’t able to make it to work tonight.

A sudden weight jumping onto your chest causes you to drop your phone onto the floor. Two yellow marbles coldly stare at you through the darkness, silently judging your poor condition.

“Y-Yokai, please… I can’t b-breathe…” With weak hands, you try to gently push your cat off of your chest, but it’s no use. Every time you try to get close, the little beast nips at your fingers.

This is it. This is how you die. You never believed in the superstition about black cats, but perhaps you should’ve heeded its warning. Maybe this is his way of telling you that he never liked you in the first place, in spite of all you’ve done for him as his caretaker. Years from now, when someone finally notices that you’re missing, they’ll find your corpse with Yokai resting right on top, like he’s gloating about outliving you. You shut your eyes, quickly accepting your fate. On the brightside, maybe you’ll finally get some sleep for once.

A knock on your front door causes him to jump off your chest to inspect the noise. You silently thank the stranger at your front door as your lungs finally fill with air. As far as you’re concerned, they just saved your life.

WIth a blanket wrapped around you, you struggle against your headache and stumble towards the door. The person on the other side makes you wonder if you should add hallucinations to your list of symptoms.

“Hi!” Eunha beams at you, a plastic bag in her hands. “I brought you some stuff to help with your cold!”

“H-huh?” You stand there in shock, a million questions floating through your head. “What about the store?”

She shrugs. “I closed it for a bit. I’m sure the two customers that would’ve shown up tonight will live.”

Never in a million years did you expect anyone, aside from the occasional delivery man, to show up to your doorstep, let alone with the purpose of providing you aid. It’s… nice. You’re probably better off with a good night’s rest, but god knows you’ll never get one.

“Are you gonna invite me in? It’s rude to keep a woman waiting, y’know,” she teases.

“R-right.” You step aside, allowing her into your apartment that hasn’t seen another human soul the entire time you’ve lived in it. As luck would have it, another person arrives on the one day that you’re unable to clean anything. “Sorry about the mess.”

“It’s alright—Oh!” Yokai leaps from the shadows, stopping just a few feet in front of her to inspect the stranger entering his home. “Hi there! Oh my gosh, you’re so cute!”

Eunha kneels down to his level and offers her hand towards him. Taking the invitation, Yokai approaches her with cautious yet curious steps, his eyes dilated and ready. After a seemingly tense moment, his pupils soften as he presses his small face into her palms, accepting her enthusiastic pets.

“I can’t believe you never told me about your cat!” she playfully berates you. “What’s its name?”

“His name is Yokai,” you answer, collapsing haphazardly onto the couch. “Found him on the street when I first moved here.”

She raises an eyebrow at you. “You named your cat after Japanese demons?”

You shrug. “It seemed fitting at the time.”

Eunha chuckles, giving him one last pet before placing the bag on the table. “I brought you some cold meds, green tea, and a can of chicken soup. Is it alright if I use your kitchen to heat up the soup?”

You wave her off. “Thanks, but you don’t have to do that.”

She rolls her eyes at you, grabbing the can and walking over to the kitchen in defiance. “If I didn’t want to do this, I would’ve just dropped it off and left.”

With barely any energy left to argue, you resign yourself to resting your head against the armrest, listening to the clanging of metal and the creaking of wood as Eunha searches your cabinets for a pot. Three flickers followed by the gentle poof of the stovetop bring you back to simpler times when your mother would cook meals for you as a kid. That comforting feeling of knowing that everything would end up okay even if the current times are tough.

A feeling you haven’t felt in a long time.

Hope isn’t something you like to cling onto; you know at this point that hoping for something as supposedly inevitable as sleep is a waste of time. Some nights you’ll get lucky, the stars will align and you��ll fade into bliss as soon as your head hits the pillow, but those nights are so few and far between that they might as well be nothing but coincidences. It was much harder during the earlier days. Countless checkups, thousands of desperate Google searches and Reddit posts, downing melatonin like the next gummy could solve all your problems.

And yet, as the savory scent of chicken soup lingers closer, you can feel your eyelids grow heavier and heavier.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” Eunha says, nudging you gently. “The soup is gonna get cold if you don’t eat it now.”

“Right.” You sit up, finding yourself mere inches from her bright smile, the steam from the soup wafting in between you two. She brings a spoonful of the warming liquid to your lips, blowing on it first to cool it down.

“Open wide,” she says.

“I can feed myself.”

She rolls her eyes dramatically. “Humor me for a sec. Besides, when’s the next time a pretty girl like me is gonna spoon feed you soup?”

You stifle a chuckle at her shamelessness, reluctantly parting your lips. The saltiness washes over your tastebuds, warming your entire body as the liquid slides down your throat. It’s the same cheap chicken soup you’ve eaten before when money was scarce, yet something about it feels different; like it’s healing your heart, not your stomach. Perhaps your illness is messing with your tastebuds, but whatever the reason, it tastes way better than it normally would.

“See, was that so hard?” Eunha teases. A buzz from her pocket interrupts her from giving you a second spoonful. “Sorry, I need to take this real quick, it’s my boyfriend.”

So she does have a boyfriend.

“Yeah, go ahead,” you say, retrieving the bowl from her. She gives you an appreciative grin before walking over to the kitchen and answering the call.

Whatever goes on in Eunha’s personal life is her business, not yours. Yet, you can’t exactly stop your ears from catching onto glimpses of words, attempting to decipher some kind of meaning through the fog. None of it is coherent, but her disappointed sighs and harsh whispers don’t exactly paint a pretty picture—certainly not one you expect from a loving couple.

After a brief moment, Eunha walks back into the living room, her expression noticeably darker than before. The smile that she usually dons is jarringly absent and her eyes are glossy, as if she’s on the brink of tears.

“Sorry, um… I have to go,” she mutters, unable to meet your eyes. “I have to pick up my boyfriend, he’s, uh… been drinking again.”

You can’t help but feel worried at her sudden downtrodden look, unfamiliar on her face. “That’s alright. Will you be okay?”

“Uh, yeah, I’ll be fine.” She tries to put on a reassuring smile, but the look of dread dripping from her eyes and the lack of soul in her expression only leaves you more anxious than before. “He gets like this sometimes. It’s… nothing, really.”

An unfamiliar feeling grows in the pit of your stomach, an urge to provide some ounce of comfort. But this isn’t your place to intervene; that’s what you keep telling yourself, at least.

“I’ll, uh, see you tomorrow then? Or whenever you feel better.” Eunha quickly gathers her things and heads towards the door, but Yokai jumps in front of her.

“Bye, Yokai. I hope this isn’t the only time I see you,” she says, offering him a few gentle pets. Right before she disappears behind the door, Eunha looks back at you, holding an expression you can’t quite read. The door shuts with an audible click, and the vast emptiness of your apartment envelopes you once again.

Suffice to say, you don’t get much sleep that night.

______________________________________________________________

“So…” Eunha tilts her head to give you a better look. “What do you think?”

You shrug. “It’s… pink.”

Her lips curl into a pout, unsatisfied with your answer. “This is the first time you’ve seen me dye my hair and that’s all you can say?”

It’s another quiet night at the store, somehow quieter than usual. These late night chats with Eunha have become a sort of tradition between you two, a tradition you’ve grown decently fond of these past few weeks. Nowadays, she doesn’t even bother with the alcohol, instead simply asking you if you want to watch the stars with her. The chilly nights are still a bit bothersome, but the company more than makes up for it at this point.

Conversations mostly consist of listening to her talk about things in her personal life, her school, her friends, and occasionally, her boyfriend. Sometimes she’ll ask questions about your own life. You try your best to answer, but frankly, you don’t consider there to be anything worth noting. She’ll pry a bit, but respects your choice to be quiet about these things. A gesture that you’ve come to appreciate.

“What am I supposed to say?” you ask her.

“Anything,” she says. “Whatever’s on your mind. I just wanna know what your opinion is.”

“But it’s your hair, why should my opinion matter?”

“Maybe it doesn’t, but that doesn’t make me any less curious.” She shifts herself towards you, giving you a good view of her new look. “So, tell me. What do you think?”

A loaded question for sure. You know better than to be too honest about these kinds of things, but you also know that she won’t be satisfied unless you put effort towards a real, honest answer. You lean in to better analyze her features, tracing every single detail of not just her hair but the visage that it crowns.

She’s cute, you think. You know. The bright pink of her hair brings out the porcelain of her skin, giving her the appearance of a doll, well crafted and loved by its creator. Every single feature is perfectly and meticulously placed, down to the spacing of her eyelashes and the angle of her nose. It’s no surprise the amount of stories she has about getting hit on in random places. Maybe if you had a bit more confidence and a bit less sense, you would’ve ended up like one of those stories. But you know better than to indulge those kinds of thoughts, especially one about a coworker.

“It looks… nice,” you utter after a moment of thinking.

Eunha softly chuckles to herself. “I guess that’s about as good of an answer I’m gonna get from you.” She leans back against her palms, releasing a deep breath into the night. “You’re pretty fun to talk to.”

You raise an eyebrow at her. 99% of your conversations consist of her talking while you listen and offer the occasional nod. She might as well be speaking to a brick wall with a conscience.

“I’m serious,” she says, laughing at your expression. “Y’know, a lot of girls like a guy that can listen as well as you do.”

“Thanks, I guess.”

Her lips quiver in hesitation before speaking again. “Do you… have a girlfriend?”

You shake your head no.

“Boyfriend? Partner? I don’t judge.”

No again.

“Hmm…” She nods, her mind falling into deep thought. “That’s surprising.”

“Is it?” you argue. “If I remember correctly, you said I was ‘the least charming person you’ve ever met’.”

“That was a joke!” she exclaims. “I’m sure there’s someone out there that thinks you’re charming.”

You shrug, letting your gaze float to the stars in contemplation. You’ve had your fair share of relationships in the past, good and bad. You thought you would spend the rest of your life with the last girl, but as fate would have it, that just wasn’t in the cards for either of you. The days spent lazing in each other’s arms suddenly turned into nights where being in the same room was unbearable, and the minor quirks you once adored became the topic of all your shouting matches that punctuated the end of your relationship.

So now you’re here, working at a convenience store during the ungodly hours of the night and going home to a cat that likely wants you dead.

“That’s a possibility,” you say, not wanting to sound too nihilistic.

“Come on, give yourself some credit.” Eunha pats your shoulder supportively. “I’ve seen how some of the female customers look at you.”

You can’t help but grimace at her words. “They’re not really… my type.”

“Then what is your type?” she asks, eyes wide with intrigue.

Another loaded question, one that you honestly don’t know the answer to. Or perhaps, an answer that you don’t want to materialize, for fear of the can of worms it would open, so you take the easy way out.

“I don’t know. I’m not really interested in dating right now.”

“That’s lame, dating is… Well, it should be fun,” she says. A glimpse of something hides beneath her expression, nigh imperceptible if it wasn’t for that brief glint in her eyes. “I’m going to a club with my friends this weekend for my birthday, you should come! Maybe I can set you up with one of them.”

“No, absolutely not,” you adamantly refuse. A club is the last place you would ever want to go to on a weekend. Bumping against sweaty strangers in a cramped space while bass boosted garbage spews from the speakers isn’t your idea of fun.

“Please, it’s for my birthday!” she begs. “It’ll be fun, I swear!”

“Eunha.”

She clasps her hands together, pouting her lip and flashing you those large puppy eyes. “Please~”

You don’t consider yourself to be spineless or a pushover; the exact opposite, in fact. The less you do for others, the less issues you’ll have going forward.

But it is really, really difficult to say no whenever she gives you that face.

You sigh, averting your gaze to hide the blush creeping against your cheeks. “...What does your friend look like?”

Eunha squeals in delight, fishing her phone from her pocket. “Here.”

She hands you her phone, displaying a photo of a woman around your age. Long, wavy hair cascades perfectly down her shoulders, framing her delicate features, while a dress made of fiery purples and reds clings to her slim frame, giving her an air of class and maturity. A woman that’s, to put it bluntly, way out of your league.

“Her name is Yuju,” Eunha explains. “She’s really into music, and she takes pole dancing classes on the weekends. Pretty hot, eh?”

“I suppose,” you say. “You think she’ll find me ‘charming’?”

“Ye—Hmm… I guess we’ll find out.”

Not reassuring in the slightest. You’ve gone and doomed yourself to a weekend of brushing backsides with the worst people you can imagine, people who have no regard for personal space or public perception, all for a woman you don’t know.

Well, not a woman you don’t know. It’s for Eunha’s birthday, after all. Her and those damn eyes.

______________________________________________________________

Eunha is good company. You like having her around, even if you’ll never admit that to her. She’s good—decent at her job, and in between the stench of hot dogs and the occasional rude customer, there’s comfort in knowing that there’s someone like her on this godforsaken planet.

You can’t say the same about her friends.

“Hey~!”

“OMG, you’re so tall!”

“Eunha, your friend is so handsome!”

Skip the pleasantries entirely, you’d rather be anywhere but here right now. They don’t even try to hide their early signs of intoxication as they sway to the muffled beats leaking through the walls of the club and onto the streets outside. Eunha, seemingly sensing your discomfort, stays by your side.

“They can be a handful at times, but they’re nice,” Eunha says.

“Eh… What about her?” You discreetly gesture towards one of her friends that’s been sending you death threats through a not-so-subtle glare the second you arrived.

“Oh, that’s SinB. She’s, uh… She’s friendly once you get to know her.” Eunha gives you a small yet reassuring grin, which honestly does little to comfort you. You appreciate the gesture nonetheless.

The line creeps ever closer towards the entrance of the club, signified by the trashy music growing louder with each step. Just a peek through the door and you’re already grimacing at the thought of having to spend a single second in this wretched haven of hedonism.

“Which one is Yuju?” you ask, trying to get your mind off of the impending dread building in your stomach.

“She’s running a little late, stuck in traffic.” Eunha smirks at you, waggling her eyebrows. “You excited to meet her in person?”

You shrug. “I don’t know. I guess?”

She rolls her eyes at you. “Word of advice, try not to be too much of an emotionless robot in front of her.”

You open your mouth to argue, but the bass blasting from the speakers drowns out anything you try to say. Not like you can even think of a proper argument with how overwhelming everything is.

As you follow Eunha deeper into the club, you instantly regret not making up some lame excuse at the last minute and bolting. You can barely take two steps without bumping into anyone, a task made more difficult with the lack of proper lighting and the disorienting stench of some unknown substance floating around. The smell emanating from the hot dog machine at work is more favorable to this.

“Here you go, girl!” one of Eunha’s friends exclaims, gesturing towards a seating area sectioned off with velvet rope. On the table sits a light up centerpiece reading “Happy Birthday, Eunha!” surrounded by an abundance of expensive-looking alcohol. Her friend must be loaded because there’s no way Eunha could afford any of this with a convenience store salary. Consequently, your present for her pales in comparison to this kind of extravagance.

“Oh my god!” Eunha squeals, hopping with excitement, “Thank you so much, this is insane!”

The way her face lights up with happiness almost makes coming here worth it. So, you do your best to endure, downing shot after shot with everyone else while trashy music bleeds into your brain. Eunha steals glances at you from the far end of the booth, offering an apologetic look as her rowdier friends bombard you with incoherent words and shot glasses overflowing with poison. You meet each look with a smile and a simple wave, yet it’s becoming an increasingly herculean task to not let the lingering burn of alcohol in your throat manifest itself onto your visage.

A woman with long wavy hair approaches Eunha, and the two pull each other into a giddy embrace, exchanging words and excited giggles. You can’t quite make out their conversation—not like you’re trying to eavesdrop—but with the way Eunha is pointing at you and the vaguely familiar silhouette of the other woman, you’d have to guess that she’s probably Yuju.

“Hello!” she hollers, her voice straining against the distorted thump of the speakers. “Are you Eunha’s friend?”

“Yeah.”

Yuju extends her hand towards you, sporting a polite grin. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.”

In any other scenario, maybe you could’ve had a decent conversation with her. Hell, maybe you could’ve even fallen in love with her. You’re not blind; she’s certainly an attractive woman. But in a place like this, where you’re constantly fighting the urge to up and leave, it’s impossible to try and form any kind of connection. And you genuinely try. More for Eunha’s sake than yours, but the attempt is still there.

Halfway through the barely discernible wall of words, you feel a pressure on your thigh. It creeps upwards slowly, inch by inch, stopping just shy of your crotch. Yuju bites her lip at you, her eyes half-lidded and heavy with seduction, leaning in until you can feel the heat from her breath against your ear. Thus far, you’ve been guessing her words and trying to formulate a response based on what you could lip read. But what she whispers into your ear rings true, like the whole world went silent just so you could hear her.

“Let’s cut the bullshit already and get to the fun part. I haven’t had dick in so long, I just need to feel you inside me.”

The rush of adrenaline sparked from her words alone leaves you reeling as you feel yourself being tugged around by this woman you just met, struggling to keep balance in the sea of faceless strangers. The sounds, the sights, the fucking everything about this place melts reality like goo seeping through your fingers, where the only constant is the fire in your windpipe and the sign for the women’s bathroom growing larger with each step.

This kind of spontaneity is probably good for someone like you. These days, you barely make an effort to make friends as it is, the thought of going out and actively trying to date didn’t even cross your mind until recently. It’s not like the thought of having sex with Yuju doesn’t excite you a little, you are human after all. With all the bleak memories you have from your last relationship, maybe it’s time that you let it go and let something good happen to you for once.

But is this good? You’re about to have sex with a woman you just met, in the bathroom of a club of all places. Exciting, sure, but good? You don’t even have a condom on your person, and judging by her current state, it doesn’t seem like Yuju has one either. All you have is your wallet and Eunha’s gift.

Eunha.

By some act of divine intervention or your own instincts, your eyes snap to the middle of the dance floor. Through the sea of drunken silhouettes, you see Eunha, frozen against the continuous wave of moving bodies. Her smile is gone. There’s a man there, slowly encroaching on her. Maybe they’re just talking. Her friends are around, surely they can protect her if she’s in any danger.

But they’re not there. Most are still at the booth, inhaling bottle after bottle without a second thought, while one pulls you towards the bathroom, too horny to consider the consequences of her own actions.

The man touches Eunha’s shoulder. She tries to swat him away, but he’s bigger than her. Much bigger. Like a vicious wolf cornering a poor rabbit.

Without another moment of hesitation, you break free from Yuju’s grasp, shoving your way through the crowd with complete disregard for everyone except Eunha. Most people will think you’re the biggest idiot for throwing away an opportunity with a woman like Yuju, but you wouldn’t be able to live with yourself if you choose meaningless sex over the safety of your only friend.

You grab the man’s wrist, pulling Eunha behind you. “Get away from her,” you growl.

“Fuck off.” He tries to shove you aside, but you stand firm, refusing to budge in the slightest. You’re probably—no, definitely—a fool for trying to stand up to a guy built like a fridge. The scrawny guy at the store is nothing compared to this giant meathead. But as you feel Eunha cling onto the back of your jacket, her hands trembling in fear, you know that you’ll stand before the wolf time and time again to protect the poor rabbit.

Before things can get even more heated, you grab Eunha and make a dash towards the exit, knocking over a few people in the process. Even so, you don’t stop running until the cool air of the outside bites at your cheeks.

“Shit,” you pant, leaning against the wall of a neighboring building to catch your breath. “Are you ok—”

Eunha wraps her arms around you, pressing her face into your chest. Every breath she takes quivers like the last leaf on a dying tree, desecrated by a furious storm. All you can do is hold her, trying to provide some ounce of comfort as she sobs in your arms.

The world is cruel to you, a fact you came to terms with long ago. It’s stolen many of the things you held dear, leaving you to cling to the pieces left behind and try to rebuild your life out of nothing. You built walls, avoided people entirely, did everything you could do so you never have to feel that kind of pain again. And after all that, you’re left to simply exist. Survive. Not ‘live’ in the way people somehow wake up with the sun and breathe in the dawn of a new day with hope in their hearts. Just be.

And then Eunha came into your life, walking into the doors of the convenience store with her bubbly smile and boundless energy. All the time you’ve worked alongside her, listening to her greet every single customer with such enthusiasm, enduring her brutally honest criticisms of your personality, succumbing to her demands every time she flashes those damn eyes at you, she’s made you look at life differently, whether you liked it or not. She didn’t even have to chip away at your walls at all—you tore them down yourself and built a grand entrance into your soul just for her. Because you wanted to. Because you like the way she smiles like nothing bad could ever happen, you like how she manages to find the good in everything and everyone, and you like that she still wants to talk to you despite your brick wall of a personality.

To see her like this, breaking down in your arms, on her birthday of all days, is nothing short of soul crushing.

“Thank you for that,” Eunha murmurs, her voice tiny and fragile. “Um, can we go?”

“Sure,” you reply in a calming tone. “Where to?”

“Anywhere but here.”

The two of you wander the streets in silence, nothing but the muffled hum of faraway chatter and the occasional car passing by to keep you company. She stays deathly quiet, a state you’ve never seen her in. With everything that just happened, you don’t blame her, but you can’t help but feel chills at her solemn expression. It’s like the sun’s gone dark, leaving the whole world in a forever winter.

You pass by a 7/11, not thinking much of it, but Eunha stops underneath its glowing sign. “...You wanna drink?” she asks, giving you a small yet hopeful smile.

Alcohol is probably the last thing either of you need at the moment, yet you find yourself nodding anyway. It’s hard saying no to that face.

______________________________________________________________

Time ticks by at a pace more glacial than the frigid winds buffeting you as Eunha chugs down her second can of cheap beer, crumpling it in her hands as if to release all her pent up emotions inside. On a normal day, you would’ve found it a little funny, maybe even cute, to think that the living embodiment of a summer day has inner turmoil that she can only externalize through the crushing of an aluminum can. But on tonight of all nights, the shrill crunch becomes a harsh reminder that life’s cruelty shows no mercy.

“Are you okay?” you utter, unable to move your gaze from the ground. Of course it’s a stupid question—who would be okay after almost getting assaulted?—but, it’s a start, if anything.

“Um… I don’t know.” Her despondent voice is punctuated by the metallic crash of aluminum against concrete. “Do you want the short version or the long version?”

“I have time.”

Eunha inhales deeply, letting the chilling winds of the night fill her lungs, before breathing it back out into the elements. “No. I’m not okay, and I haven’t been for a long time. I know, it sounds a bit dramatic, but it’s just…” she sighs, “It’s just how I feel.”

“I don’t think you’re being dramatic at all,” you reassure her, earning an appreciative grin in response.

“Um… God, I really don’t know where to start with this,” she says, her face falling into her hands. “School has been kicking my ass lately, which isn’t that big of an issue in the shitstorm that is my life, but it’s there. Last week, one of my professors chewed me out for accidentally submitting the wrong file for an assignment, so I spent the entire day just crying in bed.” A small laugh leaves her nose at the fact, void of any humor.

“And then my friends. They’re great and I love them with all my heart, but they can be such a handful.” With each word, she sinks deeper and deeper into herself as the burden she’s been silently carrying threatens to end her. “Sowon—the tall one that paid for the table—she has a reputation for sleeping around campus, which is fine, I’m not gonna tell her what she can and can’t do with her own body. But her life is filled with so much drama, and I end up having to play therapist for her, and it just gets so exhausting.”

You nod in understanding, keeping silent as she spills out her grievances. It’s not a pleasant sight, but pain rarely is. This image that she’s built up for herself as this happy-go-lucky fairy of a person, the image that you’ve consumed without question because doing otherwise would be like the sky falling around you, tears itself down to reveal the ugly truth underneath: That she’s human. And all humans suffer, even the ones that you wish didn’t.

“You remember the night I came into work with my hair dyed?” she asks after a long pause, her gaze fixated on the crumpled can below. “I broke up with my boyfriend that morning. I just… couldn’t handle all the hurt and neglect anymore, so I left.”

The revelation comes as a shock to you, even if all the signs were there in hindsight. “I’m sorry to hear that,” you offer, nervously fidgeting with the tiny box in your pocket.

“Y’know, he always hated when I dyed my hair. Said I looked like a slut whenever I did it.” The word sounds so crass against her gentle voice, like a grisly wound on unblemished skin. You feel an unfamiliar anger boiling inside of you at the notion that someone would even think to hurt her.

“And with how things turned out tonight, maybe he was right—”

“Hey,” you lightly interject. “I don’t think you look like… that at all.”

Her dejection cracks a little, giving way to a small smile accompanied by the faint hum of a chuckle. “Thanks. Maybe if that other guy thought the same as you, I wouldn’t feel like this.”

With a deep breath, you retrieve the small box from your pocket and hand it to her. “Here.”

“What’s this?” Eunha takes the box from your hand, her brow raised in curiosity.

“Your birthday present. It’s not much, but… yeah. It’s not much.”

Tentatively, she opens it up, revealing a necklace with a rabbit pendant hanging from it. Her face lights up, and for a moment, you forget that she was ever sad in the first place. A newfound sense of determination wells within you, and something that you’ve kept hidden deep inside finally comes to light: you would do anything to protect that smile.

“This is so cute, I love it!” she remarks, fiddling with the chain as she tries and fails to put it on. “Uh, a little help?”

“Sure.” You take the necklace from her, and as she pulls up her hair to reveal the delicate skin of her neck, your hands begin to tremor nervously, making it nearly impossible to secure the necklace.

“Is everything alright back there?” she teases. “I can feel you shaking.”

“Y-yeah, no, it’s fine.” The stutter in your voice dashes any attempts at trying to sound natural. It’s a simple act, putting a necklace around your friend, but something about it feels so intimate, like the first hint of warmth after a long and arduous storm. Once you finally secure the clasp in place, a breath you didn’t know you were holding empties from your lungs.

“Thanks,” she says, admiring the rabbit pendant. “Thanks for everything, really.”

“I didn’t do much.”

“But you did something,” she reasons, her voice lilting with an air of melancholy, “You did a lot more than anyone else ever did for me.”

Eunha’s eyes wander upwards to the stars, the same ones you’ve spent nearly every night under, listening to her talk about everything and nothing all at once. Tiny blips of light a billion miles away, the only witnesses to your midnight conversations about the mundanities of life. To them, your little exchange of words seems small and meaningless, but to you, these talks with her mean everything.

“I’ll make sure to pay you back one day,” Eunha utters.

There’s no need. Your existence is more than enough.

______________________________________________________________

In a past life, you used to curse how consistently time seems to move without regard for anything else. After one of the worst nights of your life, how dare the sun have the audacity to rise up in the morning like your whole world hasn’t just collapsed? The lights peaking through your blinds felt like a big “fuck you” from the world. Everyone struggles, get over yourself, you lazy prick. Before you realized it, the negativity took up every corner of your mind, constant noise rattling around your head every second of your existence, bleeding into the nights that seemed endless as you could do nothing but stare at the ceiling.

But nowadays, those thoughts seem so long ago, like a vague memory. Maybe it hasn’t gotten easier to sleep, but it’s quieter now. Peaceful, even. It barely even occurred to you how much time has passed since then until a certain coworker of yours decides to remind you.

“Happy birthday!” Eunha pops up from behind the counter, donning a dingy party hat and holding a cupcake with a single lit candle embedded in it.

“H-huh? W-what—”

“Make a wish!” She pushes the cupcake in your face, a potential fire hazard if your hair was just an inch longer. Confused by the sudden onslaught, all you can do is stand there like an idiot, eyes tracing over the silly hat adorning her rosy head. It’s cute though.

“It’s your birthday, right?” Eunha pouts, reading your confused expression. “Or did the calendar lie to me?”

You pause for a moment, running the numbers in your head as you try to remember how much time has passed. “Right,” you utter, not quite meeting her eyes. “Yeah, it’s my birthday.” Without another word, you grab a broom and begin sweeping as a couple approaches the store, hoping their impending presence will get your mind off the topic. With how life has been going these past few years, it’s getting harder and harder to find a reason to celebrate.

Was.

The gentle chime of the entrance rings throughout the store, yet Eunha’s cheerful greeting that usually follows is hauntingly absent, you nearly greet the customers yourself just to fill the unusual silence. Before you can check to see if she’s alright, you’re interrupted by a male voice.

“Hey, you know where the beers are?” the guy asks. You silently gesture towards the fridges, taking the opportunity to eye the couple. The girl seems generally unremarkable, not unlike the usual customer at this hour, but something about the guy feels oddly familiar, despite his face not matching anyone in your recent memory. Something about the way he drapes his arm carelessly over the girl like she’s an accessory rather than a person, or the way he doesn’t even bother to look through the tiny store for more than two seconds before asking for the answer just pisses you off.

“Thanks, pal,” he says, clapping your shoulder in a way that feels anything but friendly as he passes by. Out of all the expletives, middle fingers, and death threats that have been thrown your way by people far worse than this guy, none of them have managed to strike such an anger-inducing chord with you as that simple pat on your shoulder. But why?

You look over at the counter to check on Eunha, only to find a lone cupcake and a party hat peeking out from behind it. “Are you alright?” you ask, brows furrowed as you peer over the counter at her. All you receive in response is a panicked look and a harsh “Shhh!”.

“Hey pal, can you ring me— Eunha?” The two of them lock eyes in some weird staring contest, while you and his girlfriend or whoever she is are left completely out of the loop. You glance back and forth between them, trying to gain some semblance of understanding in their eyes for what feels like an eternity, until it finally clicks in your head.

The hint of familiarity despite never meeting him and the abundance of bad vibes he exudes all make sense — he’s Eunha’s ex-boyfriend.

You hastily scan his pack of beers and his box of condoms. “$20.55.”

“Why don’t you go wait outside for me, babe?” you hear him whisper to his new girl, unashamedly staring at her backside as she saunters out of the store. Eunha sighs, standing up from her hiding spot and leaving the party hat to dangle sadly in between her fingertips.

“So,” he continues, not even sparing you a single glance, “You’re still working in this shit hole?”

“Yup,” she replies, gaze glued to the floor. “Gotta pay rent somehow.”

He scoffs. “If you just come back to me—”

“I’m sorry, what the fuck?” You freeze at her sudden outburst, not used to this side of her. “Are you seriously asking me to come crawling back to you after everything you fucking did!?”

“Look, babe—”

“Don’t fucking ‘babe’ me, you asshole!” Her breath starts to get heavier as tears well up in her eyes and her fingers turn white around the dainty string of the party hat. “And don’t you have a new girlfriend anyway!? What the hell is wrong with you!?”

“What, you mean her?” His head flings back in a guttural laugh at the insinuation that he would find himself in a committed relationship with his “new girl”. Hell, if things weren’t so tense, you would be laughing at that idea too. “She’s just who I’m banging for tonight since you fucking left!”

“For fuck’s sake,” she groans, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Just pay for your shit and leave. Please.”

He scoffs. “Quit being a fucking bitch and—”

“If you leave now, I’ll let you have everything for free,” you interject, each breath heavy and quivering with anger. For the first time since this whole altercation, he acknowledges your presence and simply scoffs, eyeing the two of you back and forth. With a smirk, he grabs his things off the counter and backs away, chuckling to himself like there’s some kind of inside joke that neither you nor Eunha are a part of. As the door chime rings to signal his exit, you hear the huff of a harsh syllable underneath his breath that turns the next few moments into a vague blur.

“Slut.”

You’ve never considered yourself to be particularly athletic—average at best, but still decent enough to not be picked last during childhood games. Yet, as you grab the cupcake from the counter and haphazardly chuck it through the air, you swear that Shohei Ohtani himself would’ve been impressed at the accuracy of your pitch as it arcs perfectly and splatters against the back of that asshole’s head. You freeze in disbelief of your own actions, barely registering the pink frosting-covered look of rage stomping towards you.

Eunha pulls you out of the doorway and quickly locks the door before pulling you into the break room, away from the view of the windows. Banging glass and muffled expletives are soon replaced by the monotonous whir of the fluorescents as she shuts the door behind her.

“Oh my god, are you insane?!” Eunha exclaims, trying and failing to suppress a grin.

“I-I, uh… I don’t know. Probably.” A breathy chuckle escapes your lips. And then another one. Soon, you’re keeling over the floor in laughter, replaying the impact of the cupcake over and over in your head.

A second chorus of laughter mixes with yours in a symphony of hysterics as Eunha joins you on the floor. Your head starts to ache and your stomach grows sore, but the first bout of genuine joy you feel after years of nothing but cold isolation overpowers any kind of pain.

Being here, in this moment with her, is the best birthday gift you’ve ever received.

______________________________________________________________

Even after the clock passes midnight and your birthday officially ends, Eunha still insists on doing something to celebrate. That sweet piece of payback against her ex was more than enough for you, but as always, it’s hard to say no when her eyes light up with so much excitement.

You wait in the solitude of your living room, with nothing but Yokai to pass the time. He purrs contently on your lap, being oddly well-behaved for once. Maybe he knows Eunha is coming and is in a better mood than usual. Are black cats telepathic?

As if on cue, he jumps off your lap and scurries towards the front door, a millisecond before a barrage of knocks and a muffled “Ayo!” sound off from the other side. It doesn’t take a genius to know who the owner of that voice is.

“Surprise!” Eunha exclaims, balancing a store-bought cake and a champagne bottle in her arms.

“I’m not sure if it counts as a surprise if I know that you’re coming,” you joke, taking the contents from her arms.

“Yeah yeah, whatever you say, birthday boy.” Yokai impatiently nuzzles his head against Eunha’s leg, practically begging for her attention. “Well, hello again, cutie! Did you miss me?”

He purrs in response to getting showered by Eunha’s affection. You place the cake on the dining table and peer curiously at the champagne bottle, only to find the words “Sparkling Apple Cider” written in fancy gold lettering.

“Apple Cider?” you question.

“Yeah,” Eunha responds. “Did you want actual champagne or…?”

“No no, this is great.” You flash her a reassuring grin, which she returns in kind, punctuated by the cute swell of her cheeks.

“Phew, I’m glad. I thought I read you wrong for a second.” She plops comfortably onto your couch like she’s been to your apartment a thousand times before, Yokai swiftly taking his place onto her lap. “So, what do you usually do for your birthday?”

“Nothing, really,” you sheepishly admit. “If it wasn’t for you, I probably wouldn’t have remembered it was today.”

“Whaaat? That’s no fun.”

“Yeah, well…”

You trail off as the ghosts of your past come back to haunt you. Each year, the faces around the table seemed to become fewer and fewer until it was just you and the cat. Eventually, you just stopped bothering with it. It’s just another day, indiscernible from every other one. Sure, you could go on about why no one bothered to contact you, but It’s not like you’re completely blameless—why didn’t you reach out? Every night spent with your eyes forcibly pried open, you basically had all the time in the world to one, single message to anyone. And yet, you didn’t.

It’s your fault alone that things ended up this way.

You feel a soft pair of hands suddenly wrap around yours, forcibly pulling you out of the black hole in your mind that threatened to envelop you.

“Why don’t we make this one extra special then?” Without waiting for you to answer, Eunha pulls you towards the kitchen and pushes you down into a chair.

“What are you doing?” you ask, confused yet charmed by her usual antics.

“Just wait a sec,” she says, rummaging through your cupboards like a mouse looking for cheese. You watch in amused silence as she searches through every nook and cranny for… whatever it is that she needs. You can’t quite wrap your head around why she’s going through all of this effort, in the dead of night, for you of all people. You’re just her coworker in a dingy little convenience store.

Although, it’s hard not to feel insanely lucky when she turns to you with that impossibly bright smile that only you get the luxury of seeing.

“Okay, here we go!” Eunha exclaims, taking the plastic lid off of the cake and fiddling with a single match.

You tilt your head curiously. “Is that a—”

“I forgot to get candles and this is all that you have, alright?” she playfully snaps at you. Finally, once the match is lit, she places it gingerly in the center of the cake. “Make a wish, birthday boy!”

As you gaze into the small, singular flame before you, it dawns on you that you have no idea what to wish for. Money? A bigger house? The ability to have a good night’s sleep? Blowing out a silly little candle isn’t going to magically change your life overnight, no matter what the occasion is.

But as you look past the flame, you see Eunha gleaming back at you, waiting with bated breath for you to make that wish. The passion, the excitement, the hope swirling around in just her eyes alone sends a wave of warmth throughout your body that seeps deep into the fibers of your bones. A wish finally forms inside of your head.

You blow out the match, extinguishing the flame and letting your wish float into the air along with the smoke.

“Woohoo!” Eunha cheers. “What did you wish for?”

Heat rushes to your cheeks as you suddenly feel sheepish under her gaze. “I-I, uh—”

“Wait, don’t tell me!” she frantically interjects. “I forgot, if you say your wish out loud, it won’t come true!”

A chuckle brushes past your lips. If there’s even a tiny chance that what she said is true, then you’ll gladly take a vow of silence just to keep your wish close to your heart.

Eunha cuts two generous slices of cakes for the both of you while you pour the sparkling cider into mismatched mugs - the only drinkware you have that even comes remotely close to fitting the occasion. Your apartment becomes enveloped in a comfortable silence, save for Yokai’s content purring on the couch and an occasional “Mmm” from Eunha in-between mouthfuls.

As you peer to the side, you notice a small glob of frosting on the corner of her lips. “You have a little something here,” you chuckle, gesturing to the area. She tries to wipe it off, but somehow completely misses the mark.

“No, it’s still there,” you say, unable to hold back a smirk at her failed attempt. Without thinking, you reach out and gently wipe the frosting from the corner of her mouth with your thumb. The soft warmth of her cheek sends a jolt through your body, and only then do you realize just how close you are. Her eyes widen slightly in surprise, but she doesn’t pull away. For a moment, time seems to stand still as you gaze into the deep obsidian of her irises, your thumb still lingering on her lips.

Eunha’s cheeks flush a rosy pink that mimics her hair, and you quickly retract your hand, clearing your throat awkwardly. “Um, got it,” you mutter, avoiding her gaze.

“Thanks,” she says softly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

The air between you feels charged, as if closing the distance even a little bit would shock you. You steal a glance at her and find her doing the same, quickly turning away after a mere whisper of eye contact. For that split second, you notice her eyes shimmering with an emotion that you can’t quite place. The silence stretches on, growing heavier with unspoken words.

Eunha breaks the tension first with a soft chuckle. “So, uh, how was your birthday? Sorry I couldn’t do much more than this.”

“N-no, it’s fine. I thought it was great, actually,” you admit, a small grin tugging at your lips.

“Yeah?” she says, beaming at you. “I’m glad.”

“Me too.”

She stands up and begins to gather her things. “I should probably head home now. It’s getting—well, I guess it’s already late.”

A pang of disappointment hits your chest. “Right.”

Each step feels like you’re wearing cinder blocks as you walk her to the front door. Yokai perks up from his spot at the couch, mimicking your own feelings of panic as Eunha nears the exit. Why are you acting like this? You’ll see her at work tomorrow. Despite your attempts at rationalizing, the growing urge to stop her is becoming harder and harder to ignore.

As she takes a step outside of your apartment, she turns to you. For a moment, she simply gazes into your eyes. You can’t quite read them—it’s hard when you’re too distracted by how unbelievably pretty they are—but it feels like she’s waiting. Waiting for you to say something, maybe? With the thumping of your heart growing louder in your ears, the ability to focus suddenly becomes an uphill battle.

“I, uh, I had fun tonight.”

You take a breath. “Y-yeah, me too.”

“I guess I’ll see you at work then?” Her voice lilts up, as if she’s asking a question. A loaded question, even. An answer sits on the tip of your tongue, desperately waiting to be heard by her ears. Just a couple words, and yet it feels like overlooking a cliff with no end in sight. A free fall into new, terrifying territory.

But, as you’ve learned time and time again, it’s hard saying no to that face.

“A-actually,” you begin, your voice almost getting caught in your throat, “it’s late and it might be unsafe tonight, so… I was wondering… do you want to stay the night?”

If you had more than just pure adrenaline pushing you forward, you could’ve probably used a better choice of words. Something smoother and less uncertain. Something more charming, as Eunha would put it. But all of these thoughts sink to the back of your mind when you’re suddenly attacked by the softest lips you’ve ever had the pleasure of experiencing. Like muscle memory, your hands wrap around Eunha’s delicate waist, gently pushing her into the door until it shuts with an audible click.

All the second guessing, the worrying, the negativity, everything is completely thrown out the window as you sink into her lips. You let yourself get lost in her touch, pulling her close to you like she’s your matching puzzle piece. In the midst of needy touching and sharp breaths, a wave of calmness washes over you. Like all of this is meant to be.

“W-wait…” Eunha gently pushes you off of her, worry filling her expression.

“What’s wrong?” you ask. “Do you not want thi—”

“I do want this. I want you, more than you could ever imagine, but I just…” she sighs, her grip on your shoulders weakening slightly. “I really like working at the store and talking to you every night and feeling like my life isn’t a constant trainwreck. I need that consistency in my life. If we do this, no matter what happens tonight, I need you to promise me that nothing will change between us.”

She looks up at you with desperate, pleading eyes. You know, probably more than anyone, just how much pain she holds inside, invisible to the outside world. The two of you are alike in that way. The only difference is that she kept on trying to live despite her scars, while you stopped trying because of them.

“I’m not a perfect person by any means,” you start softly, gently caressing her cheek. “Before I met you, I felt like I was barely even human. I was just a body without a soul, wandering aimlessly. But then, I met you and everything changed.”

Eunha sinks her face into your hand, peering at you with those damn eyes. You’ve seen them light up like fireworks during her highest highs and pour like a perilous storm during her lowest lows, but you’ve never once seen them completely empty, void of any emotion. For once, you feel hope that things can get better, and she is the living, breathing reason why.

“Whenever I’m with you, nights don’t feel as cold and the stars seem to shine brighter than I thought was possible,” you continue. “Breathing becomes easier and I laugh harder than I ever have before. Life doesn’t just become bearable—it becomes enjoyable. And that’s all because of you.”

As your words linger in the gap between lips, you feel the haze that clouded your mind for so long finally lift, making way for light to shine through. A pure, warming light with pink hair and porcelain skin and cheeks like puffed up marshmallows.

“I take back everything I said before,” Eunha says with a smirk. “That was the most charming thing I’ve ever heard.”

Before you even have time to roll your eyes, she’s kissing you again with a newfound passion. You’re quick to follow her lead, running your hands over the curves she’s been hiding underneath her work uniform and taking mental notes of the spots that produce a cute moan. Each sensation feels like a spark of lightning being shot through your veins, driving your every movement. You want—no, need to please this woman, show her exactly just how much she means to you.

With all the adrenaline in your system, you end up pinning Eunha against the front door with an audible thud. “Someone’s eager to get things going,” she teases, short-breathed and rosy-cheeked.

“How can I not be when you’re so—”

“MRRAAOOOUWWWW!!!” Yokai cries out, his yellow eyes full of judgement as he looks at your crude display of affection from the couch. Attention whore.

Eunha chuckles. “Maybe we should—”

“Abso-fucking-lutely.”

You take her hand and practically drag her to the privacy of your bedroom, her excited giggles trailing behind you. As soon as the door shuts behind you, Eunha is already laying on your bed, resting comfortably as if it were her own.

“Got room for one more?” you quip.

“If it’s you, definitely.”

With an easy smile, you make your way towards her, fingers grazing up her thighs to her toned stomach and around the sensuous curve of her bosom before resting right next to her head. The moonlight peaking through the window illuminates her eyes, allowing you to see the passion and the neediness aimed directly at you.

“You’re so beautif—mmf!“

Eunha suddenly claps her hand over your mouth. “Listen, you’re very cute, but I desperately need you to take my clothes off. Now please.”

You waste no more time, diving into the crook of her neck and producing a yelp from her throat as you pepper it with kisses. Excitedly, your hands slip under her shirt to massage her full breasts. You’d be lying if you said you never imagined it would be like to cup her breasts, but actually getting to feel them in your hand is a different sensation entirely. So soft yet so firm, and perfectly bouncy. By the noises she’s making, it’s safe to assume that she’s enjoying this just as much as you are.

Eunha reaches down and strokes the outline of your cock through your jeans, her movements fueled by a primal lust. “Oh my god, I can already tell you’re so much bigger than my ex. Please, I need you inside me right fucking now,” she begs, already fidgeting with your belt.

You chuckle, not used to her lovely voice spewing out such heinous demands. Whatever the princess wants, she’ll get.

Loose clothing begins to decorate your room while a symphony of pleasurable cries and wrinkling fabric accompanies the scene. Moonlight casts shadows on your walls, depicting the beautiful act of debauchery taking place. This room, which only harbors memories of dreadfully sleepless nights, becomes a haven for you and Eunha to begin something new and wonderful.

“Can’t believe I almost let Yuju have all of this for herself,” she giggles, eyeing your length as it nears her dripping sweetness.

You lean down to briefly take her lips in yours, running your hands over her now unclothed body, bare in all its glory. “I don’t wanna think about any woman other than you right now,” you say in a low, growly tone.

“Mmm, good answer.” Eunha abruptly wraps her legs around your waist. “Now fuck me, birthday boy.”

Your cock drags against her folds, lubricating it with her juices. You feel her shiver underneath you as you lightly graze against her clit. She’s so beautiful. Completely exposed and vulnerable, all for you. With a single movement of your hips, you enter her honeypot, the two of you sharing a moan as the tip slides in.

“Shit,” you groan, drawing in a heavy breath, “We forgot a condom—”

“We work at a convenience store, we can just get a Plan B tomorrow!!” Eunha snaps before donning an apologetic look. “Sorry, I just mean—”

You interrupt her with a peck on the lips, smirking at her. “I know what you meant. I’ll shut up now.”

Pure instinct takes over as you begin to buck your hips into her, years of pent up energy and the desire to make her feel loved fueling each thrust. The crescendo of her voice every time your bodies meet is a tune like no other, and you do everything in your power just to hear that noise again and again and again and again. Sink your fingers into the meaty flesh of her thighs, lap at her perky tits, pin her arms over her head so her only choice is to succumb to the overwhelming sensation of lust.

“Perfect” doesn’t even begin to properly describe Eunha. From her bubblegum optimism that managed to melt your cold heart to the velvety tightness of her pussy as she takes you in so fucking well, there aren’t enough words in existence to explain just how much she means to you. So instead, you do your best to deliver the message through every movement. The fire in your pelvis as you fuck her heat, the soreness of your tongue as you worship every inch of her body, everything you do is testament into making sure she knows just how much you mean to her.

Love her in a way that her ex could never do.

Love her until all the pain and suffering she went through is forgotten.

Love her the way you’ve been unknowingly aching for her since the moment you laid eyes on her. Repay her for all that she’s done just by existing.

“K-keep going! Just like that!” she groans, the grip of her pussy tightening with each second. You do as she says, fucking her at the pace that she likes and hitting every spot that produces that oh-so-pretty noise from her lips. With how amazing she feels, it’s becoming increasingly difficult to ignore the building feeling in the pit of your stomach.

“Eunha…”

She grabs your face, forcing you to look at hers. “Inside me, baby. Please. I need to feel you. I want to feel you.” She peers at you with those eyes, glimmering with the light of a full moon, and pleads for you to stay inside her. How silly. Why would you beg when I would give you the whole world at the drop of a hat?

In one final thrust, you climax in her arms, wave after wave of pleasure rushing through you. Eunha shoves her face into the crook of your neck, a guttural moan escaping her lips as she experiences her own orgasm. Months of working alongside her and getting to know her, culminating into a beautiful moment of release for the both of you—and this is only the beginning.

“H-holy… shit…” Eunha pants, tracing lazy circles on your shoulder. “That was… better than I could have ever imagined.”

“Are you saying you’ve imagined this before?” you tease.

“What, you think I’m gonna work with someone that’s as sweet and as awkwardly-cute as you and not occasionally think about fucking him?” she retorts with a smirk.

The both of you share a laugh in each other’s arms, bathed in the moonlight and sweat of passion. Before long, the exhaustion of today’s events gets to the both of you, and you feel your eyes grow heavier and heavier—a sensation you haven’t felt in a long time. A final kiss marks the beginning of many more nights to come. Nights where the shadows are still and the morning become a moment to look forward to.

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rafeysbangs · 3 days ago

Text

lachesism , rafe cameron ( series ) 01

pairing ; brother's!bsf!rafe x kook!female!reader

content ; mdni !! outerbanks au, eventual smut, angst, violence, underage drinking, family issues, substance abuse, s/a.

summary ; rafe cameron is everything you can’t stand; reckless, infuriating, and too self-assured for his own good. as your brother’s best friend, he’s always been a constant presence, one you’ve done your best to ignore. but the tension between you has always simmered just beneath the surface, sharp and impossible to ignore. you’ve spent years resisting his pull, refusing to give him the satisfaction. but in a world where lines blur and control slips away, you’re forced to face the truth: rafe cameron isn’t so easy to hate after all.

status ; ongoing .ᐟ

✺ navigation ; 001. 002. 003.

ONE ; i'm there, you're there, everybody's there.

THE DREADED MIDSUMMERS.

you always hated the annual celebration. to you, it's a maddening mix of triviality and discomfort, a tradition that felt more like a chore than a festivity. sure, there were fleeting moments of fun, but they were rare, overshadowed by the unbearable awkwardness that always seemed to define the event for you.

every year, you found yourself trapped in the same suffocating routine; forced smiles, polite small talk, and the endless chatter of people pretending they cared about each other more than they actually did. it wasn't that you hated people, well not all of them, but the sheer superficiality of it all made your skin crawl. and yet, despite your disdain, you still show up. but only at your parent's request, year after year, like clockwork.

this year was no different, though you had to admit it wasn't entirely terrible. you stood at the drinks bar with your best friend, cora, both of you stifling laughter as you subtly chucked back glasses of champagne. cora had a knack for making the unbearable tolerable, reason being why she's your best friend. only friend. the way she mimicked the exaggerated niceties of the other guests and never faltered from your side not only at kook events but also any other day of the week proved her to be the only person worth hanging out with.

but even as you enjoy messing around with cora, your gaze kept drifting across the grass to your older brother, carter, and his best friend, rafe. the two of them were already several drinks in, their loud obnoxious laughter carrying over the murmurs of polite conversation. rafe, in particular, was teetering dangerously close to the edge of decorum, gesturing wildly with a mostly-empty beer bottle as carter egged him on with his laughter.

"they're going to embarrass themselves before the sun's even down," you scoffed, narrowing your eyes at the two of them.

cora followed your gaze and snorted, "oh absolutely. rafe's probably one cocky remark away from falling face-first into a table."

you rolled your eyes. "i wouldn't even stop him."

"i know you secretly love seeing him make a fool out of himself."

"i really don't." you said, though your lips twitched at the thought of rafe actually toppling into the table of bucketed beers behind him. it wouldn't be the first time he'd turned a formal gathering into a spectacle.

cora gave her a knowing smirk, "yeah, okay"

you took a long sip of her drink, still watching carter and rafe with growing annoyance. they were now talking far too loudly and swaying just enough to make their intoxication obvious. rafe had ditched his blazer and was gesturing animatedly, spilling a few drops of beer onto the grass as carter doubled over in laughter.

"okay, this is officially getting out of hand," you pointed out, setting your empty glass down.

cora raised an eyebrow, "what, worried your legendary football player brother is gonna make a fool of himself now? or just can't stand the sight of rafe being... well, rafe?"

"both," you snapped, beginning to trudge over to them, your heels periodically sinking into the grass and dirt. "come on, let's get them inside before they draw anymore attention to themselves."

cora followed along with a sigh, "fine, but if carter pukes on me, you're cleaning it up."

you weaved through the mingling guests, your tipsiness making the task slightly more challenging that it should've been. unlike carter and rafe, though, you hadn't had enough to make yourselves look like idiots, and you could hold your own. when you reached the boys, you immediately folded your arms in front of them.

you grabbed a beer bottle out of carter's hand and set it down with a loud clink, "both of you, inside. now."

rafe raised an eyebrow, his smirk lazy and insolent. "excuse me? who made you the party police?"

"you've been drunk for an hour, and the sun's not even set yet," you snapped, turning to carter. "and you're letting him make an ass of himself, and by extension, yourself. you two need water, get inside."

carter sighed, "okay okay fine. cmon rafe."

you didn't wait for the taller boy to agree, spinning on your heel and marching toward the country club doors. carter followed, muttering something under his breath while rafe trailed behind, his stifling a laugh sending a fresh wave of irritation through you.

once inside, the quiet of the club was a welcome relief from the chaotic hum of the event. you turned on your heel, arms crossed, as the boys finally stopped in front of you.

"you're unbelievable," Rafe scoffed, his voice dripping with mockery. "dragging us in here like we're children who need a time-out. you just love playing the hero, don't you?"

you narrowed your eyes. "and you just love being a reckless asshole who can't handle midsummers without turning it into a scene. you do this every time rafe, aren't you tired of being a fuckup?"

"woow," rafe said, his smirk widening. "you really are as uptight as you look."

"oh, i'm sorry. did i interrupt your drunken performance? please, go back out there and embarrass yourself in front of everyone. i'm sure ward would love that."

before Rafe could retort, carter stepped between you two, raising his hands in surrender. "okay, enough. del, we'll cool it. no more drinking for a while, all right?"

you shot rafe one last glare before nodding. "good.." rafe turned away and chuckled darkly.

you ignored him, turning on your heel. cora, who had followed silently up until now, rolled her eyes at the boys with a grin.

as the two of you then stepped into the cool evening air, you exhaled sharply.

"well, that was fun," cora said, her voice light with amusement. "you and rafe really know how to liven up a room."

you rolled her eyes. "he's insufferable."

"and you're so not affected by it," cora teased, earning a glare.

you two rejoined the party, you were determined to salvage what was left of the night, even if rafe's smug grin lingered annoyingly in the back of her mind.

the crowd had thinned out hours ago, leaving only the stragglers and the hum of distant music. you sat on a worn wooden bench tucked away in the shadows, the cool night air nipping at your bare shoulders and open backed dress. your drink was empty, but you still held the glass in your lap, staring out at the faint glow over the remaining guests, though their laughter and chatter had dulled into a murmur.

you exhaled slowly letting the faint buzz in your head settle as you leaned back, glossy eyes staring up at the twinkling stars. it was quiet, peaceful even, until a familiar voice broke through your disheveled thoughts.

"wow, look at you. little miss perfect all alone. didn't think you'd let yourself get drunk enough to sit alone here sulking."

you rolled her eyes, tilting your head to see rafe cameron stumbling toward you, a crooked grin on his face and an empty bottle dangling loosely from his fingers. his shirt was untucked, his tie was undone and his usually greasy bangs were messier than usual, falling over his eyes.

"don't you have my brother to annoy?" you mumbled through gritted teeth, sitting up straighter.

"not anymore," he said, slumping onto the bench beside you, far too close for comfort, not that he could notice that this was probably the closest in proximity you'd been in a long time. he smelled like whiskey and faintly of smoke, though you didn't remember anyone smoking at the party. "everyone's gone home. except you, apparently. what's wrong? finally too perfect for anyone else?"

you rolled her eyes again. "you're drunk."

"and you're not?" he gestured vaguely at your empty glass. "don't think i didn't see you sneaking more of those vodka sodas earlier."

you sighed, turning to glare into his baby blues, "what do you want rafe."

he looked away and shrugged, his grin softening slightly as he stared out at the glowing lights in the distance. "i dunno, a ride maybe? or maybe i jus' wanted to see if you're as miserable as you looked all night."

"you're impossible," you said, standing up abruptly. "fine. where's ward and rose?"

he blinked at you, his smirk faltering. "gone, they left a while ago."

you blinked at him, suddenly aware of how late it had gotten. the faint music from the dance floor was slower now, the kind that signalled the end of the night. most of the decorative lanterns had burned low, leaving along shadows stretching across the grass.

"of course they're gone." you muttered, grabbing your keys from out of your clutch. "let's go. i'm not being the reason you stumble around here all night just to get detained for trespassing or something equally stupid."

rafe grinned lazily as he pushed himself to his feet. "always the hero."

"always the idiot." you shot back sternly, marching toward the parking lot with him trailing behind you.

the drive to tannyhill was wordless, other than for the low hum of the engine and rafe's occasional muttered remarks, which you ignored by turning on some low music. when you pulled up to the sprawling estate, you didn't bother to say anything, simply unlocking the doors and waiting.

rafe gave you a drunk, crooked smile as he climbed out, leaning down slightly to peer at her through the open window. "you're not as boring as you think you are, you know."

"go to bed, rafe," you said flatly, ignoring the slight heat rising to your cheeks.

he laughed, a low, rumbling sound, before stumbling up the path to the front door. you waited just long enough to see him disappear inside before driving off.

the trip back to your house was dark and mostly quiet, the empty streets a stark contrast to the earlier chaos of the party. as you gripped the steering wheel, your mind wandered back to rafe.

you hated him. you reminded herself of that firmly, repeating the thought like a mantra. you hated his smug grin, his reckless behaviour, the way he seemed to get away with everything. he was destructive, cold, and violent when he wanted to be, the kind of person who left chaos in his wake.

and yet, you couldn't shake the thought of him sitting beside you on that bench, quieter than usual, something almost vulnerable lurking beneath his usual bravado. it was infuriating. the way he intrigued you, despite everything you knew about him, everything you disliked about him, made your stomach twist uncomfortably.

by the time you pulled into the driveway, you'd convinced yourself it didn't matter. rafe cameron was a mess, a storm you had no intention of stepping into. you hated him. you had to. anything else would be far too dangerous.

the house was dark and silent when you slipped inside, the huge wooden front door creaking softly as you closed it behind you. you kicked off your shoes in the entryway, your heels clattering against the tile, and winced. with careful steps, you crept through the dimply lit hall and up the stairs, grateful your parents were likely fast asleep.

your room was as you'd left it, a little messy from getting ready but mostly untouched, with soft orange light from her salt-lamp spilling across the room. you flicked on another lamp on your dresser, letting out a long breath as you began unzipping your dress. the fabric pooled at your feet, and you exchanged it for a worn, oversized t-shirt before heading to the bathroom to wash your face.

as you brushed your teeth, your thoughts inevitably drifted back to rafe. he'd probably stumbled through the doors of tannyhill, loud and unapologetic, before collapsing onto some couch... or, if he made it that far, into his bed. you imagined him leaving his shoes kicked off in random corners, his tie flung somewhere on the floor, with no regard for the mess he made.

but then another image crept in, one you hadn't meant to summon. you thought of the times you'd caught ward speaking to rafe in clipped, cutting tones when he thought no one was paying attention. you remembered the hard set of ward's jaw, the way his voice was sharp enough to cut, even if you couldn't make out the words. and you remembered the way rafe would stand there, his usual bravado stripped away, his fists clenched at his sides like he was fighting the urge to hit something - or someone.

a faint pang of guilt surfaced as you rinsed her mouth and dried your hands. it wasn't as though rafe didn't deserve to get told off every now and then, he brought most of it on himself, after all. he was reckless and selfish, always chasing parties and cheap thrills, always pushing buttons and crossing lines. responsibility wasn't even in his vocabulary, and it was hard to pity someone who so often seemed to invite their own problems.

still, as you climbed into bed, the thought lingered. beneath all the arrogance and chaos, there was something deeply broken about rafe cameron. you didn't want to feel bad for him - not really. but sometimes, you couldn't help it.

you pulled the cover up over your shoulders and shut your eyes, determined to push the thought away. it didn't matter how ward talked to him or how messy his life might be. rafe had made his choices, and you were determined to keep hating him. anything less would be dangerous. anything more would be impossible.

or so you told herself, as your mind drifted and sleep slowly crept in.

notes ; THANK YOU FOR READINGG.. im so excited to post this. wattpad is so dead so this fic has just been sitting there rotting. anyway leave me feedback please !! ps i promise you're less of a pushover, this is just a one off to annoy rafe lol.

taglist ; @rafegetinmybed @sqfewrd @dreamyy-cloud @vampteeth @wtfisastiles @flvredcas @plaidcowboy @sematarygirls @slut4you @kravitzwhore @daryldixon83 @lexavanhuelee @dorcas4meadowes @foolishangelic @i2rapunzel @rafesgreasycurtainbangs @rafestoothbrush ( lachesism taglist )

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captain-bubble-wrap · 2 days ago

Note

Reader doing her skincare routine with quinny?

└( ﾟ∀ﾟ)┘💚└(ﾟ∀ﾟ )┘

I changed this juuuuuuust slightly! 😘😘

"Hey, do you still want to watch that movie, or no?" Quinn asked, poking his head through your open bathroom door. You had your face over the sink as he talked, so his words were muffled by the sound of running water, but you got most of what he had asked.

"Um, sure. I just need a few more minutes." Looking at him through the mirror, you hadn't realized how red his forehead was until he raked his fingers through his hair to expose it. "Honey, your skin is really red."

"It's okay," he replied, shrugging.

Turning to face him, he looked at you confused. You had a look in your eye that meant you weren't about to let this go.

"Baby, it's fine. It's just a few breakouts. I have them all the time."

"They're from your helmet, I know," you said, reaching up to touch his face. His skin was inflamed and you knew they had to be painful. "Can I help?"

Quinn sighed lightly, mainly because he didn't like to be fussed over, but he didn't want to hurt your feelings either. "You don't have to."

"I know, but I want to."

He knew you wanted to, so he folded without putting up a fight. "Okay, baby. Do whatever you want to."

You smiled warmly at his words, before giving him a soft kiss as a thank you. "Let me get you something to keep your hair out of your face first."

From one of your drawers, you'd grab a thick, padded headband, made for just such things. Placing it behind his ears, you'd push it up and past his forehead to completely brush all the hair out of his eyes. He looked cute, even though you could tell he was absolutely embarrassed.

"That's a look," he replied sheepishly, dropping his eyes from his reflection immediately.

"You're cute, hush," you said, following a second kiss. "It's just us here."

Your words gave him enough reassurance to smile finally. Quinn stepped closer to the sink, seeing all of the various glass jars and bottles that littered your large counter. "Do you use all of these?"

"When I need to, yeah, but not all at once or anything. I won't use too many on you, though, so don't worry. I don't want to aggravate your skin anymore than it already is."

"What /are/ you going to do?" He asked, picking up one of the serum vials to press its button topper.

"Going to start with a mask to draw what I can out of those blemishes, first."

"A mask?"

From a cabinet, you'd grab a clay mask jar and a silicone spatula to apply it with and had Quinn sit on the edge of your tub.

"I'm going to warn you, as this dries, it's going to tighten, so you'll feel a slight pulling feeling, okay?"

He nodded, looking up at you slightly concerned, putting his hands on your hips as you stood between his legs. The product was cold to his skin, making him balk slightly at the sensation but not enough to pull away from you.

"It's cold, I know. I'm sorry."

"It's okay," he said, closing his eyes, his hands falling down to your bare thighs. You were wearing one of his Canucks t-shirts that was even too big for him, which was why you loved it to sleep in.

"I'm just going to do your whole face."

Quinn smiled, "You don't need to waste all your products on me."

"I think we can confirm that I have enough," you giggled, painting the clay around his facial hair. "Almost done. It doesn't take much of this stuff."

"How long does it stay on?"

"Till it's completely dry, so probably fifteen-twenty minutes, give-or-take."

"Okay."

Quinn would stay seated on the tub edge while he watched you finish up your nightly routine. He was amazed with all of the steps you did, knowing he could never do the same. Every so often, you'd look over at him, just sitting there, hands between his knees. He looked miserable.

"Are you okay, honey?" You asked, after noticing his expression change.

"Yeah."

"You don't have to stay here with me if you don't want to, Quinn. You'd probably be more comfortable on the sofa or something."

He shook his head, "I'll stay with you, or am I hovering you?"

Sadness flooded your expression as you stepped towards him. "No, baby! You're not hovering! I just wanted to make sure you were okay!" You wanted to kiss him, but that wouldn't be the easiest at the moment. You'd settle for a soft smile which you made sure he saw.

Quinn tried to smile as well, but the tightness of the drying clay made him stop his attempt, so he just kind of looked at you like a sad puppy.

"It's almost dry, baby. Just a couple patches on your cheekbone. I must have gotten it a little thick there."

While the mask finished, you ran the water to get it a comfortable temperature beforehand. He was looking at the floor as you drenched the washcloth in the warm water and made your back to him. "Chin up, baby. Let me get this off of you."

Again, his hands would find your body, like you were his security blanket this time. In reality, he just wanted an excuse to touch you, which you never minded. Slowly, you'd make small swipes of the now pale-green product, revealing refreshed skin beneath. You would have to make several passes back and forth to the sink to rinse the cloth, and each time you did, he'd resume his holding of you.

"I could have just stood by the sink, babe," Quinn said, feeling bad about making you make so many trips.

"It's no problem, but thank you." With everything but the problem spot to wash away, you'd bend down to give him that kiss he seemed so desperate to have. "I'm going to be real gentle now. Let me know if you need me to stop or anything."

"Okay, thank you."

First, you would just press the cloth to his skin, letting the product rehydrate slightly, to avoid having to aggressively scrub the area. Thankfully, it came off much easier after doing so. The redness was still apparent, but the size of the blemishes did look slightly reduced.

"Look at that handsome man," you said, satisfied with the outcome.

"Yeah, right," Quinn replied. "Am I done?"

"Not quite, baby. I have something else for you. That just helped dry up those spots. I need to actually treat them now."

"Oh."

It took you a moment, but eventually you found the sheet mask you had in mind.

"What is that?" He asked, seeing you pull the white blob out of the packaging.

"It's a sheet mask," you laughed, unfolding it to reveal the shape of the face it was meant to cover.

"That's weird."

"Yeah, they kind of are. Now, this one is going to be really cold compared to the last one."

"Alright. Oh, it's slimy," he said, as you aligned it with his face, making sure it wasn't in his eyes.

"They're wonderful things, though. This one won't have to be washed off. And it's made for acne and stuff, so it's perfect for your problem. I have the same stuff that's in this mask in a pump. Why don't you take it and use it after your games? Then your forehead won't be so aggravated and painful. And before you decline my offer, I have a couple of them," you finished with a wink, knowing he was apt to bring it up.

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely. I promise it will help."

Quinn smiled, giving you a squeeze as you still stood over him. "Well, now what?"

"We can start that movie if you want. Those masks you can sleep in, so there's no real time limit."

"Sure." He rose to his feet, giving your cheek a soft touch with the back of his fingers. "I appreciate you wanting to help me. I'm clueless about all of this stuff."

"No problem, honey. It was fun," you smiled. "You should feel a lot of relief in the morning."

"I hope looking like this is worth it," he shook his head, seeing what he looked like before leaving the bathroom with you.

#💌Maven's Love Notes #quinn hughes #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes imagine #quinn hughes one shot #quinn hughes fanfiction #quinn hughes fic #hockey imagine #hockey fanfiction #hockey fic

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lostinlovingrevery · 20 hours ago

Text

Beauty (18+)

Worst! Wolverine X Plus sized! Reader

Plot: You're a curvy girl, and a passing comment said to Logan pisses him off, leading him to show you just how beautiful he thought you were, as well as make sure you believe it too.

A/N: Don't look at me.

Warnings: Smut, a lot of smut, this whole thing is almost smut. PiV, unprotected sex, creampie, Reader is curvy/plus sized and described with stretch marks and large breasts and a belly, Logan is a a total dom but he's sweet about it, and sometimes a lil mean. Oral, (f! recieving), body worship and praise, logan gets a lil feral in the end, MDNI. I wrote this with Worst! Wolverine in mind, but honestly you could probably imagine any Logan. NOT proofread. I can't reread this filth.

Word Count: 3972

You and Logan were snuggling on the couch of your apartment. You were wearing one of his shirts, which was just a tad too big on your curvy body and you loved that. You both were spooning in a sitting position, with Logan behind you, his strong arms wrapped around you, as you both were focused on the tv, watching some old Clint Eastwood western flick that Logan seemed to enjoy.

You were enjoying the quiet time you were spending together, even if you really couldn’t find yourself to get into the old movie. Logan's arms moved around you, and you felt his hands move to your belly, lifting up your (his) shirt up, where he then grabbed at the folds of your stomach, kneading and squishing at them. It was something Logan had done before, and you never truly minded before, but for some reason it was annoying today.

“Lo, knock it off, It’s not funny.” You muttered, grabbing his hands to pull them off you. Alas, he was stronger than you, and he refused to allow his hands to be removed from something he considered his.

“Funny?” He whispers slowly in your ear, “Who said anything about being funny?”

You frowned, looking down at where his hands gripped at the plush of your belly. You were a bigger girl, you always have been most of your life. ‘Plus-sized’, ‘curvy’, whatever title you want to put on it, it's just how your body type was. You had large breasts, a soft round belly with faint stretch marks stretched across your skin, accompanied by love handles on your hips, your thighs, big and strong- enough to crush a man's head if you so desired. Not that you ever called it that, but your slightly insane, undiagnosed ADHD, loud, obnoxious, best friend, and neighbor Wade Wilson, who was the very person to introduce you to Logan, had described your thighs that way during a drunken game of UNO. You guys hadn’t even been on the topic of your body; much less anybody's body. Wade just blurted it out. You have come a long way in growing your confidence and loving yourself for who you are, not just your body, but your whole person. It didn’t mean you didn’t have your bad days though. Days where you can’t look at yourself in the mirror and cover yourself with large clothing to hide any trace of fat you carry.

“You just don’t need to be squeezing everything and making it obvious.” You muttered, dropping your hands from his wrists in annoyance. You didn’t know why you were being so moody over it.

Normally you enjoyed Logan touching you. Ever since you guys got together, Logan was always all over you, you don’t remember a moment where he didn’t have an arm around your shoulder, holding your hand, his hand resting on your thigh- and during the more private moments where you two were alone, he always was feeling you up, groping your breasts or ass, coming up behind you to hug you- and to rub his clothed dick against you so you could feel just how hard you make him. For some people, Logan’s constant need for physical touch may be annoying, but rarely have you ever found yourself pushing him away. It made you feel desired, especially when you had spent most of your life not feeling said desire.

“I’m just touching what I love, baby.” He purred, leaning down and kissing along your shoulder, catching your grumpy tone. It should warm your heart, the way he expresses his love for you, but it only makes you feel moodier.

“What is there to love?” You muttered under your breath, frowning. Logan's hands stopped his attack on your belly, and it suddenly hit you that you may have made a mistake saying that outloud.

When you met Logan, to say you were immediately captivated by him is an understatement. Wade had introduced you, a “brother from another timeline” he described him as. Another one of Wade's adventures that you’ve learned to tune out because you always ended up more confused by the end of his tales. You immediately liked Logan, not just for his handsome face and hard muscles- though it certainly helped; but because of his way he seemed to be trying so hard to make things better for himself, to make positive changes and be a good man. He was always extra gentle when he talked to you, he made you feel seen and you with him as well. The crush you had on him developed quickly and you honestly never thought a man like him would give you a second glance. He was a superhero, he had a complicated life, thought battles you could never imagine. Guys like him don’t date girls like you, they date…other superheros. Women who were powerful, who sported thin and toned bodies. You were merely a humble lady, living your day to day life.

To your surprise though, Logan did like you. Now you’ve been together for a few months and you couldn’t be happier, save for the occasional struggles you both endure, you’ve found a way to overcome them together, and you could always appreciate how Logan, still being true to himself- still always tries.

“Excuse me?” Logan's voice rose, as he moved to sit up and stare down at you, hard. You felt yourself cower under his stare, now unsure of what to say.

“Well…” You tried to speak, swallowing a bit of air as you looked away. His hand came up, grabbing your jaw and forcing you to look at him- the display of dominance immediately made you feel that warm wetness coat the area between your legs.

“Are you doubting me, princess?” He says. “You think there ain’t nothing to love about you?” His eyes looked dark, and you saw that familiar lustful look flash in them.

“I…I didn’t say that.” You say nervously. His fingers pressed into the skin of your jaw, gripping you tight as his eyes trailed over your face.

“I think you did.” He says. “Maybe it’s time to teach you a lesson about what I love about you-” he leaned, his lips brushing against your ear. “-and you’re going to fucking learn and take it like a good girl.”

You gasped, when he let go of your jaw, shoving you down onto the couch, manipulating your body so you were on your back, as he placed himself between your thighs. He pressed himself against your clothed groin, and you could feel his length through his sweats- long and hard.

“Should give you an idea of what you do to me.” He mutters as he grinds against you, making you squirm as you reach to grab his biceps. “Uh-uh-” He grabbed your wrists with both his hands, roughly pulling them above your head. “No touching until I tell you. You’re gonna sit, and pay attention.”

“Logan-”

He grabbed your face with his large hand, his fingers and his thumb pressing into your squishy cheeks, making your lips pucker up as he squeezed, not hard enough to hurt. He leaned in, lips brushing over yours. “No. No arguments. You've pissed me off with that bullshit coming out of your mouth. I’m gonna take care of you, and make sure you ain’t never fucking doubt yourself- or me again, got it?”

You swallowed, before nodding as you stared up at him with wide eyes. Your nerves were alight, and you could feel your clit practically throbbing- begging for attention as Logan pressed himself against your legs. He kept hold of your wrists in one hand, while his other moved to your (his) shirt, roughly pulling it up, exposing your breasts and belly.

“Fuck.” He groaned as his eyes took in your curvy figure. He didn’t know what or why you didn’t like it about yourself, why that when you looked in a mirror on your bad days, you pulled and squeezed the fat of your skin as if it was a bad thing. It could be farther from the truth. Logan looked at you and saw a fucking goddess. He loved the way your tits jiggled with every movement, round and soft, hypnotizing him and making him look like he was the biggest pervert when he couldn’t help but stare at them, whether you were alone or in public, but it’s not his fault, they’re just so loveable. He loved how your body curved, from your waist to your hips, with that plush belly of yours- that he’d rest his head on when you guys snuggled, making him feel like he was in the safest place on Earth, feeling the rise and fall of your breathing. Kneading at your belly was a comfort to him, it grounded him to where you both were in that moment, feeling you underneath him, living and breathing, soft and warm. You don’t know the countless nights he’d spent alone for years, craving for any ounce of love, and it would break your heart if he told you that.

He bit his lip, as he brought one hand to your tit, slowly groping and squeezing it, giving it a little shake, before softly smacking at it- making you whimper. He grinned devilishly, as his hand took in the softness of it, the way it filled his large hand perfectly. He leaned down, sticking his tongue out and slowly running circles against your nipple, quickly making it hard, before he nipped at it.. You squirm underneath him, desperate for more, but he was taking his time, savoring every inch of your breasts, giving each the same amount of attention as he fondled them. “Love these fucking things. Love that you let me play with them whenever I want.” He groaned as he licked a nipple, making you arch your back into him.

Your face was burning hot, your cheeks flushed pink, and you felt breathless already by the worship he committed to your tits. By the time he was finished with them, they were covered in bite marks, hickeys, and spit slicked. You had a burning between your thighs desperate for him to touch, but he wasn’t there yet. He looked up at you, your eyes pleading with him to get on with it, but he grinned, something borderline evil and perverted. Letting go of your wrists, he grabbed both your hands, placing them over your breasts.

“Go on baby, play with me. See how fun it is.” He purred. You swallowed a gasp, becoming embarrassed by his words and how he was making you touch yourself. His large hands over yours led you, making you grip your breasts, moving them in slow circles, until he used his fingers, interlocked with yours, making you rub circles onto your nipples, further pushing them into overstimulation as you gasped and whined, wanting to stop, but the longer he made you go on- the better it felt. “See princess? See why I like them so much?”

You swallowed hard and nodded, he hummed, leaning down to peck your lips before sitting back up. He let go of your hands, “keep playing with em baby.” He coos, as his hands begin sliding up and down your sides, as he squeezed and pinched your chub. You nodded, following his orders and continued fondling your tits. He clicked his tongue. “I don’t get how you couldn’t like this.” He says, shaking his head. “Drives me insane, ‘specially when you wear those tight ass shirts, I can see all your beautiful curves.” he purred. His large hands moved over your belly, squeezing the skin together to make rolls, “So fucking soft bub..” He leaned down, pressing kisses all over your belly while he kneaded at them, like a cat on a warm blanket. His lips pressed against each of your belly, from your midsection, down to your pelvis. He took his time, making sure you felt each flutter of his lips against your skin, before he switched to biting you, taking you between his teeth and sucking your skin against his tongue. You yelped the first time he did it- surprised after he had committed such gentle touches to your skin. His hands slide over your sides, to your back and down to your ass, where he began squeezing at the large flesh there.

Logan hadn’t even made you cum yet, but you felt like you were on cloud 9. Each touch, squeeze, pinch, the press of his lips, the sting of his teeth, made you feel otherworldly, alongside with his sweet words of worship, making every bad thought you had of your body fly out of your mind. How could you when the man was making you feel so much pleasure in your skin, even when he hadn’t fucked you yet?

“Cmon, cop a feel.” He urges, motioning to your belly. You swallowed, sliding your hands off your breasts, and over your belly. Embarrassment began to creep in as you felt his eyes watching you, knowing if you didn’t do what he wanted you most certainly were going to pay for it. You knew what he wanted you to do, as you began to press and slide your hands all over yourself, softly and sensually- touching yourself- feeling yourself, and you began to see just what Logan was talking about. You were soft, there was a comfort in feeling your skin underneath your hands, something grounding you in this moment.

Logan smiled warmly down at you, before he lowered himself down farther, his hands still cupping your ass, he pressed his nose against your cloth mound, taking a deep inhale to make you gasp. “Goddamn, you smell so fucking good. You’re soaked too.” He mutters, his tongue coming out to lick your soaked panties. He let out a hard and deep groan that sent shivers at your spin. Turning his head, he began licking and nipping at your inner thighs, his hands sensually rubbing over your thighs and ass. He pressed his cheek against your inner thigh, closing his eyes as he continued to take deep inhales of your scent. His scruffy beard scratched at your skin, but it only added to the pleasure of his touch. You so badly wanted to reach out, curl your fingers into his hair, to tug at them and push him against your pussy, where you so desperately needed him. Nonetheless, you waited, knowing he’ll give you what you want soon.

He moved from your thigh, making eye contact with you as he moved forward up to bite the hem of your panties, he slowly pulled them down your legs, pushing your legs up with him as he sat up to fully tear off your panties, not breaking eye contact once. The whole action made you giggle, as sensual as it was. He grinned, dropping that dominant demeanor for a moment,

“You liked that baby?” He asks and you laugh again, unsure of how to answer it. It only told him that yes, yes you did. He hums, he grabs your hand again, bringing it down to your now bare cunt. “Good. Now I want you to feel how good this pretty pussy is.”

Your breath hitched. The mouth on this man was unbelievable.

“Go on princess.” He says, watching as you slowly dip your fingers into your wet folds, sliding them through, giving you much needed relief as your head tipped back onto the couch. “That's it.” He growled slowly, his eyes watching how you move your hands, and you could hear the need in his voice. You looked up and could see the desire on his face, how much he was holding back. It was a look that always came across his face when you guys were together. You still remember the first time, he was like an animal and fucked you within an inch of your life, learning afterwards that it had been quite a long time for him, and you apparently drove him insane anyway.

He grabbed your hand once you got your fingers soaked to his desire, and brought it to his mouth, sucking on your fingers with a groan, before leaning down over you and kissing you with tongue. “Taste how good you are?” He murmured against your lips. You let out a small whimper,

“Lo- please-” You muttered, raising your hips to grind against his crotch. He grinned. His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you into his lap, before he fell down onto his back now, and his hands urged you upwards. “Lo-?”

“Cmon,” He smacked your ass, making you yelp. “Get up here.”

“What- No-” You stammered, realizing what he wanted.

“I don’t recall asking sweetheart.” He says gruffly, “Get the fuck on my face, now.”

Anyone else, you would’ve smacked them for talking to you like that. Logan though, you’d gladly listen. And you did.

You moved on top of his face, anxiety swelling you over your weight on him.

“Lo, what if I suffocate you?”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way- fuck, she’s just drooling for me, ain’t she?” He groans, eyes trailing over your wet pussy. “Plus, I can’t die. Now get down here.”

“I-”

His hands grabbed your hips, and shoved you down onto his face, his tongue swiping between your folds. It elicited a squeal of surprise from you, and you could feel him chuckling as he practically drank in your essence. His hands encouraged you to move your hips, and you obliged, riding his face. You could feel his beard scratching your thighs, his nose would rub against your clit as his tongue fit inside your pulsing hole, sending waves of ecstasy through you.

“Getting close bub?” You heard him say, and you felt his fingers tease the entrance of your cunt, and you nodded, your hands gripping the arm of the couch and you kept riding against his face. “Tell me you’re beautiful.” He says, teasing your entrance, while he licked a long stripe across your folds to your clit.

“Baby-” You whined.

“Do it,” he growled. “Or I'm not gonna let you cum.”

“Logan!” You moaned in reply, desperate to reach your peak.

“I didn’t tell you to say my name darling, as pretty as it sounds coming out of your mouth.”

You gasped as you felt one finger going inside, as he curled it, before taking your swollen bud in his mouth and sucking. Your nails dug into the arm of the couch, as you will yourself to do what he says. He brought another finger inside you, stretching you out, before thrusting in and out at a fast pace- leaving your thighs shaking.

“I- I-” You stammered. “I’m beautiful- oh!”

He continued his relentless pace, as you could feel him becoming more and more desperate for your release.

“I’m beautiful-” You say again, and the tight feeling finally snaps, as your release floods his face, waves of tight pleasure overran your body, causing you to completely freeze, before you go slack, trying to push yourself off his face- but his hands instead kept you there, as he licked the mess from between your legs, pushing you to the edge of overstimulation. “Lo- I can’t-” Your hand went to his head, in an attempt to push him off but instead you heard a growl, and before you knew it you were on your back again, Logan still in between your legs.

“I'll tell you when you’re done.” He says roughly. He sat up on his knees, “You looked beautiful like that sugar, but honestly I don’t think you meant it when you said you were beautiful.”

You were panting, trembling underneath him, and honestly you weren’t sure if you could take more.

“Cmon baby.” He muttered. He pulled you down towards him, as he slipped down his sweats. Your eyes trailed from his hair, to that thick vein traveling down to his hard length. It didn’t matter how often you saw Logan naked, full erect- it still shocked you by just how delicious his cock looked every time. You felt your mouth water. He took his member in hand, the red swollen and covered in pre-cum, as he moved down to rub between your folds, bumping against your clit and making you moan.

“Lo please-” You reached out for him, and he allowed you to press your hands on his chest. Every slick thrust in your folds made your body jump, overstimulating you as you felt your pleasure build once more.

“I want you to tell me every beautiful part of yourself, body and soul. Then I’ll give you what you want.”

You felt heat rushing on your face. “I…I don’t know what to say-”

“Sure you do baby.” He groans. “Cmon, tell me. I’m fucking hurting over here.”

You gasped, as you searched your foggy mind.

“My...Stretch marks.” You manage. He grinned,

“Keep going.” He pushes, still thrusting his length through your folds, eliciting wet and slick noises through the room.

“My thighs.”

“Fuck yeah.”

You continued listing several more things about your body that you truly did like about yourself. It was then, he finally graced with the pleasure, slowly pushing his swollen tip into your hole- making you cry out.

“You were a good princess.” He muttered. “Sit back and enjoy, I’ll take care of you.”

He thrusted, bottoming out inside you, before leaning over you, hands on either side of your head. His whole body practically enveloped you, as he began thrusting in and out, a slow pace at first, allowing you to adjust to his cock, before he picked up speed, grunting with each thrust.

Your legs and arms wrapped around his large body, as you felt the muscles of his back tighten and ripple under you. You remember the first time you saw him shirtless and ashamedly gawked at him. You’d never seen a man so magnificently sculptured the way he was, perhaps that what led you to be so self conscious of your body- not because of him making you feel that way, but your thoughts led you to believe someone like you could never deserve him. Logan, of course, proves you wrong every day.

“You’re so fucking tight, I can feel you squeezing around me doll.” He groaned as he continued his endless thrusts, sending you careening as you arch your back into him. He moved to capture your lips in a messy kiss, biting your bottom lip almost hard enough to bleed, before dragging his tongue across it to soothe the sting.

“Oh- don’t stop!” You whimpered. Your hips began to pick up his relentless pace, and he kept going until he grabbed your hips, pinning them to the couch, and fucked into you hard and fast. It felt like you were being used as a sex toy for his pleasure, as he tipped his head back, growling and grunting- almost animalistic. His hair was a mess, his teeth bared and his face scrunched in concentration.

The tight rope in your belly snapped, and waves of pleasure ran over you- almost painfully, as you squeezed around his length tight, making him grunt, now just rutting into you, his hips grinding against yours, and fucking you through your orgasm. His hips snapped back one more time, before thrusting up into you and spilling his warm release inside, you could feel him twitching inside you, as he grinded against you, spurting out every last bit of his release inside you, before carefully pulling out. His face collapsed into your chest, as you both painted, attempting to catch your breath, your skin sweaty and flushed.

He looked up at you, mouth slightly open, and eyes full of devotion and you smiled, bringing your hands up to cup his face.

“You’re so beautiful.”

#logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #wolverine #logan howlett fanfiction #logan howlett x you #logan howlett smut #worst wolverine #w!wolverine x reader #wolverine smut #logan howlett fic #vans daydreams #this was a bit self indulgent

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viagostalons · 1 day ago

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viago de riva is an antivan crow icon

Founder of his House

Master Poisoner

Talon (I imagine he was the youngest Talon prior to Teia, I would guess his age between 32-35)

Lucanis Dellamorte had (has??) a crush on him!!

bisexual KING (you cannot convince me this man is even remotely heterosexual)

Son of the King but holds more power than his father as a Talon (so sexy of him)

Has pet adders (metal asf)

Privileged enough to sleep with THE (real) Cantori Diamond

Alchemical Genius - makes his own poisons from scratch

Ruthless and Mean when he has to be

Basically became giddy as he solved a murder mystery (Oh Viago, you would have loved murder mystery board games)

Is entrusted to "keep Illario out of trouble" by Lucanis

Calls Rook de Riva an Idiot in his letter (hilarious)

Names all of his poisons via puns (more hilarious)

Autism/OCD King

Almost dies due to his autistic filing system

Loves his hair petted

Absolute SIMP of a man

Could probably kill the entire Crow faction if he wanted to with just a few slips of his hands

Is so repressed, he basically folds as soon as Teia walks into a room in Eight Little Talons

Longs to leave his gloves off and let his skin breathe but he's too much of a freak to do so

Paranoia eats him alive

Pathetic

His RBF is unmatched

Smartest man in the room (I'm kissing him until he cries)

anyway, viago should have been named First Talon by Lucanis at the end of DATV

#viago de riva #rook de riva #datv #dragon age the veilguard #andarateia cantori #teia cantori #teia x viago #teiago #dragon age veilguard #antivan crows

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jd-loves-fiction · 1 day ago

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can i request hcs of dorm leaders w a goth fem s/o. if not fem, gn if ur uncomfortable ty^^

🌑 Immediately remembered... Every single Halloween card they've ever had😭 they rock goth style so hard😩👌

❖ 𝐑𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐞 ❖

Agh he's so cunty I can't take it

Pray there isn't some rule against it💀

Post-overblot tho, he'll have no problem with the way you express yourself, after all it's not hurting anyone or causing that much chaos

Unless you wear your uniform egregiously wrong, or influence someone else to do so... Then he'll definitely have a problem

Just show him that it's what makes you feel truly comfortable and happy and he'll give in soon enough in the face of genuine self expression

He might even EVENTUALLY wonder what it'd be like to dress like you... Not that he'd ever admit it

If you do figure it out (he's very obvious with the longing glances he throws at every new outfit or makeup style you put on) and offer to help him try it out, he'll do so hesitantly

A part of him still aches as he's still unlearning the harsh rules engraved in his mind all throughout his life, so be patient and compliment and reassure him all throughout this self discovery process and he might just show up one day with a dark lipgloss on

Or perhaps a dark jacket

Truly he could pull off a full goth outfit AND he's so weak to praise you could probably convince him to at least try it on 👀

❖ 𝐋𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐚 ❖

This guy...

Despite being from the SAVANNA he's constantly in dark clothes and leather💀

I'm a firm believer that Leona is a sucker for confidence of any kind

So I'm sure he'd be very into your style, or more so, the fact that you're confident enough to strut about dresses like that

It'd definitely draw his eye👀

He definitely enjoys the rebellious aspect of it

Plus the guy barely wears his uniform correctly so he'd be the last to care about what you're wearing and whether or not it's school appropriate

"Wear whatever you want, I can fight" type of boyfriend

If ANYONE tries to give you a hard time for it, even the staff, he's got your back without question

Leona rocks dark eyeshadow, PLEASE do his makeup for him

It's a pretty intimate process and it might just put him to sleep but he'll look so great by the end off

Totally up for trying the style out... So long as you do all the work picking it out. And if it's not too uncomfortable. Otherwise he couldn't care less what you put him in

❖ 𝐀𝐳𝐮𝐥 ❖

Sweet Azul🥺

Might be less inclined to match with you than others, at least in public

He's got a reputation to keep and the suit adds to it

But also he's completely weak to the one who's managed to lock down his heart, so you could probably convince him to try it at least once if you really try ;)

Oh but seeing him get red in the face once you put him in a matching ensemble? Unmatched 🥺

Plus, Azul holds a lot of influence over NRC, staff included, so you don't need to worry about getting in trouble for it🫡he's got your back

Azul strikes me as someone who'd be quietly appreciative of those who dare stand out without shame as well as someone who pays attention to how the smallest details in someone's appearance can change their perception

He might feel inspired to be just a little more bold with his looks when you're around

Especially if it makes him more intimidating when doing business 👀

❖ 𝐊𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐦 ❖

Sunshine incarnate ☀️

I doubt he's used to seeing people dressed that given where he's from

So it'd definitely catch his eye

He wants to know everything!! Why you want to dress like that, where you get your clothes, what other styles you tried before this one - everything from the most mundane information to what's actually interesting, he'll excitedly listen to it all

(Jamil is so incredibly grateful that you're able to keep him in one spot for so long💀)

If you offer to put together an outfit for him? Oh he's over the moon, stars in his eyes and everything

Doesn't matter what you put him in, he'll wear proudly at least once before deciding if it's for him or not

In love with the idea of matching with you🥺

Truthfully, I don't think it'd be for him, given how he usually dresses, but he'd never dismiss it without at least trying

Also he's rich, so if the clothing you want is hard to find or expensive? Have no fear, Kalim's credit card is here :D

❖ 𝐕𝐢𝐥 ❖

This diva😌

He deeply values beauty and the work that goes into it

So I feel like he'd be the one to appreciate your look the most!

Tho he is very particular about his style and how he presents himself, I think he'd absolutely be willing to try your style out and if he feels it suits him? He would have no problem including aspects of it into his everyday wear

Some goth styles might put him off tho - anything too messy/chaotic would probably not be too appealing to him. For himself, that is

If you're his s/o he no doubt holds your self expression - your own sense of personal beauty, highly and will therefore encourage and help you with it in any way he can

Like doing your makeup! Just show him how you like and he'll work his magic no problem, he's incredible at it and sees the activity as an intimate time for bonding so he enjoys it quite a bit

He just loves making his baby even prettier🥺

Definitely goes shopping with you, making sure to only give you absolutely honest feedback to ensure that you look your best always

And you don't need to worry about odd stares or anything like that, people know that if you're hanging around Vil and he has no problem with how you're dressed, then it must be the height of beauty!😌

Plus he's quite protective of your honor, after all if you're with him, you're worth every expense❤️

❖ 𝐈𝐝𝐢𝐚 ❖

If he ever decided to put more effort into how he dresses (or left his dorm more often, for starters) he could totally rock it

Unfortunately, he's an anxious mess and dressing in such a way, at least in public, would definitely not help with that😭

But behind closed doors, he's your biggest hype man

Helps you take pictures, shop online, come up with outfit ideas (tho his may be a little unorthodox...)

He just thinks you're super cool, and admires the confidence necessary to dress that way

Does his best to work up the courage to actually compliment you to your face, hair pink in embarrassment, lips stuttering and eyes flickering nervously

Be patient with him, he's trying his best and you're just... A little intimidating to him when you're in your getup

He could definately use some help with his styling and he'll listen intently... whether he'll actually put it to use is another story... and if you even get to see it

If he does decide to dress like you, he'll take a cute little embarassed picture to show you, since IRL is a bit too nerve-wracking for him (please telll him he looks pretty he'll melt completely)

Hyping you up from the sidelines but no less than the others! :D

❖ 𝐌𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐮𝐬 ❖

My goth king 😊

Honestly, look at how this man dresses and tell me you dont agree

He's definately somewhat goth style adjacent without realizing (he doesnt know what you mean by that... all the gothic he knows has to do with architecture)

He's so curious about non-fae customs... and just about anything to do with you tbh

He's a lil obsessed

You'll definitely have to explain to him why you like it BUT HE WILL NOT JUDGE!! He's just very curious about you and your style

Just tell him you'd like to see him in your style and he's yours. Loves to feel included, will let you dress him in anything you like and will wear it with pride

Might be more partial to more regal goth styles... They remind him of his grandmother and he just thinks they look very noble and severe - which as Briar Valley royalty he definitely enjoys

We've all seen his majestic eyeshadow, he can rock any makeup no question

Please do his makeup, and don't mind the way his eyes grow wide as he admires your focused face, your careful fingers, how softly you handle him, despite knowing how strong he is

He's utterly enchanted by you is all, he thinks you look the perfect picture of a queen, dark and regal, you'll fit perfectly together when the time is right😌👀

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mono-dot-jpeg · 2 days ago

Text

born from another timeline - jayce, viktor

summary; "viktor, wake up, hexcore just dropped a hot person" - jayce, probably

genre/extra tags; oneshot, fluff, comedy, maybe some angst, is this considered isekai /j, amnesia?, zauntie! reader, different timeline! reader, the almost too good to be to be true timeline, hexcore knows everything, magic curses, can be seen as romantic or platonic, half baked ending, im sorry this can seen as ambiguous ending

word count; 1.3k

a/n; it's time for some silly silly writing. im changing up some of the request to be a little more interesting. im not great at interpreting long requests like this bc they can be a lot for me, and sometimes, with requesting in excitement, they can have some parts that dont make sense. but i still hope it's enjoyable. also i have no idea if my addition to this request made sense but i was too committed so. enjoy :)

you don't remember a fucking thing. all you know is that something called a hexcore spit you out, and now you're floating in the air with two really hot people. and you're undoubtedly panicking, and they're panicking too.

generally, a lot of panic.

when you finally manage to stop floating, the situation settles a little bit. at least for the two men that were floating with you.

"how did you get here?" but unfortunately, you had to be questioned. which was reasonable, you would probably do the same.

a yordle creature is trying to question you and your origins, but your mind can't seem to conjure up anything that would be a viable answer. "i.. don't know. but where exactly am i?"

the yordle, heimerdinger, informs you that you are in piltover and introduce you to viktor and jayce as well.

"piltover.. i definitely didn't know that this was piltover because i've never been around there."

"do you remember anything about your home?"

"not much. but i'm from the undercity." you answer. and that leaves the young scientists to ponder why exactly the hexcore brought you here. was it really that powerful to just teleport people from the undercity to piltover?

nothing seemed to be clicking. and so, they decide to escort you back to the dark lanes of the undercity.

but when you reach the bridge, viktor can spot the shine of confusion in your eyes.

"wait.. this is the undercity, right?" you looked over at the glum streets. "but.."

"but what? it always has been like this."

"this isn't.." you head pulses with pain as a memory tries to break through. "the undercity wasn't like this. it was-" before you can even speak about your home, it feels like you have the wind knocked out of you. your breath heaving as you cough near uncontrollably. jayce and viktor are quick to offer a hand to help you. jayce holds you steady, and viktor offers a hesitant but gentle hand. "it wasn't like this.." you can only mutter as another cough tickles your throat, threatening to come out. it doesn't take long for the two men to come up with a different thought instead.

"i don't think you're from our world." viktor said slowly.

"but i'm from runeterra, i live in zaun, i know that much." you get a little defensive. "and i know that, this isn't the zaun i live in."

"i think it's much more different than what v is saying. let's just head back."

viktor should've realized sooner as a zaunite himself. you didn't wear any worn-out dirtied clothing or had that scent of undercity smoke and gasoline that always permeated around the lanes. you were different from the undercity he knew.

with enough convincing to heimerdinger, he agrees to let you stay in piltover, but viktor and jayce would have to be responsible for you. which admittedly feels a little offending as you're not any kind of irresponsible pet or kid, but you wave off the annoyance for a more pressing problem.

"i'm from a different timeline?"

"it sounds crazy, i know." jayce immediately tells you, just seeing the incredulous look on your face. "but it seems like the most logical conclusion. you said you were from runeterra, you were from the undercity, and that the undercity you know doesn't look the way our undercity does."

"it could be entirely possible that you can even be from a different universe in general, ehh... i suppose that would be like a timeline, too." viktor sucked in a breath through his slightly clenched teeth as he tried to wonder over the details of what counted as a universe or timeline.

"the point is, this isn't the runeterra you know. and we don't know how to get you back."

and so you basically had a reset button on your life, now living in a world that was close to yours.. but not quite.

heimerdinger had concluded that there was some sort of magic binding on your memories, not allowing you to speak too much detail of them. and there seemed to be no loopholes for it. you would be stuck like that for an unknown amount of time.

that was concerning, to say the least. but not as concerning as trying to remember that this isn't the world you know. you're not meant to be here. but you'd be lying if you said that you weren't curious about how this world functioned compared to yours.

you were naturally really interested in the hextech. and it seemed like the hexcore was interested in you, it spit you out into here after all.

"do you think the hexcore is the reason i can't talk about my home?" you asked the two scientists as you stared at the core of magic and science.

"it would make sense. in a way. it's the only magic you've been exposed to. and directly in contact with.. obviously." viktor said with matter of fact tone.

it seemed like it was the only somewhat reasonable answer. and there was only one solution to you; live this new life. you don't remember everything that happened in your old life, and even if you did, you'd be coughing up your lungs before you can get a word out about it.

alternate reality and timelines really aren't fun, you realize quickly. you live in this.. new piltover and zaun and it's.. really off-putting. like knowing that everything is fine, but your mind is telling you that there's something just so wrong.

your identity blends in just enough with the support of viktor and jayce. but you don't feel right. viktor easily can sense that feeling of isolation. he understands it too well. it's the face he's seen on multiple zaunites like himself. when they don't know if they really belong in this world.

he tugs you away into his side of the lab as the gentle whirring of the hexcore hums with life, mocking you that you have no way home. jayce had left to pick up some dinner for you three, and you stayed behind for the sole reason of not having anything better to do (and maybe even keep viktor company).

the look in his sharp amber eyes is hesitant before he speaks. "how are you feeling?" he asked within the ambiance of the lab. he doesn't look at you, turning to mindlessly fiddle with his work-in-progress hex claw.

you shrugged halfheartedly with a hum, "i don't know. it just..." you let out a sigh. "it doesn't feel right."

"what doesn't?"

"being here." he lets you continue if you want, stopping his tinkering to look at you. your eyebrows furrow with a frown on your lips. "i don't know. maybe i'm just being delusional."

he pursues his lips, trying to find the right words to say. "i'm sorry we can't find a way back to your home." he said softly. "i can't imagine how it feels like to live in a world so similar but so different from home." he takes your wrist gently to guide you to an empty chair next to him.

you sit down slowly. he looks at your disheartened face.

"i'm not great at comfort like this. jayce would probably do much better than me right now. he gives a great hug." he laughed weakly, trying to lighten the mood. "but i'm not going to sit back and let you be alone on the pain." his eyes swirl with warmth. you can tell he's trying his best to comfort you.

"do you think.. we would ever meet back in my timeline?"

before viktor could answer, the door opens, revealing the golden boy himself.

"i got us some dinner!" his smile oblivious and bright, unware of the heavy air as his presence seems more bright than the setting sun.

you don't feel like you belong in plitover, but you know you belong with viktor and jayce at least.

#league of legends x reader #league of legends viktor x reader #jayce league of legends #league of legends viktor #league of legends jayce x reader #lol jayce x reader #jayce x reader #arcane viktor x reader #arcane viktor #arcane jayce #arcane x reader #lol arcane #viktor x reader #lol viktor #lol viktor x reader #lol x reader

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torturedtypewritersdept · 3 days ago

Text

blue eyes + bruises - part one

✯ pairing:

doctor!rafe cameron x fem!reader

✯ summary:

a tragic car accident looks like it'll be the end for you, but dr. cameron is here to make sure that doesn't happen.

✯ warnings:

mature themes, mentions of anxiety, nostalgia, and fear, car accident, death of a spouse (not rafe or y/n), major surgery, injuries, hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, etc.

✯ a/n:

nothing!! please don't engage if you have a hard time with any of these topics <3 this was origianlly posted on my old blog @/illicitfixations, @/lovelornanonymity back in 2021/2022 and i have rewritten + reshared it here :)

—

Sarah doesn't have lunch often with her brother, but she does today, placing the responsibility of taking care of him on herself, as she always does. Her latest manifestation of this fact is you – her best friend since her college days. He doesn’t know it, but she’s coming to him with a proposition; your sweetness and his intelligence – she knows they’d meld together like a puzzle and that’s precisely why she’s set up a date between the two of you for this evening. She enters the hospital cafeteria slowly, spotting him from across the gigantic space. His shoulders are slumped and she clocks a limp in his step, instantly sure he’s been on his feet for far too long. She smiles softly as they lock eyes and notices his are far more sunken in than she’d like them to be; in fact, they almost resemble the dark black holes of a skull missing its skin and as he makes his way feverishly through the cafeteria line, she wonders if he’s okay.

“Rafe – you look like you haven’t eaten in six days.”

She scolded as the older Cameron made his way to the table and sat his tray down across from her.

“I eat.”

He grunted in response, rolling his blue orbs into the back of his head at her incessant need to pick him apart in the form of worry. This was why he didn’t return to North Carolina after college, after all. Though he couldn’t in part blame it all on his baby sister, the discontent of his father and the enthralling energy of the city had wooed him and his bride.

“Yeah, okay, hot shot.”

She replied, laughing, throwing a french fry in his direction.

“You’re gonna be mad but I've promised your hand to someone for the evening.”

She said, giggling.

“Dammit, Sarah!”

He replied, the huff that escaped like that of an agitated dog.

“Come on, big brother! Please – she’s my sweet friend from college and she’s nice and shy and she –”

“I don’t care. I’m not going.”

Rafe interjected aggressively.

“Well, too fucking bad. I already told her you agreed and I’d really hate it if you stood her up. It was like pulling teeth to get her to agree to even give you a chance.”

“Too. Fucking. Bad.”

He gritted out.

“No – don’t play with me, I know you. Rafe Cameron is a lot of things, but he isn’t cruel and it took a lot of convincing for her to come out anyways, so please.”

Squinting her eyes in annoyance and shaking her head, she waged her war with him blatantly, tired of his bullshit only five minutes into the conversation in only a way that he could ignite.

“Tell that to Molly. She thinks I am.”

He whispered.

“No she didn’t – doesn’t.”

She caught herself, two years later still not used to talking about her sister-in-law in past tense.

“Just go – please. Get out of this hospital and those fucking ugly scrubs.”

She pleaded, her soft blue eyes always something he had to give into.

“Fine, Sarah, I’ll fucking go.”

He growled, jerking his plate closer to him as he began munching on the chicken tenders that sat in front of him.

—

Rafe was dreading this date, he didn’t know you or what you were even like and let’s be honest, he hasn’t dated in literal years, hasn’t even given it a thought. After Molly departed from him, he ate, slept, and breathed life in the hospital, too afraid to be in his home alone – too afraid the silence and lack of love would swallow him home; death by a thousand cuts. He felt like that was probably normal for the situation he had found himself in; divorce in the form of death. He stared at himself in the mirror of the locker room, being sure he was ready as his hand tousled through his unruly hair.

“Sarah’s right – I do look like shit.”

He muttered, suddenly wondering what this unknown woman would think of him.

He made his way down the linoleum lined hallway and out of the hospital door a few moments later, the familiar red shine of ambulance lights just out of his peripheral and the screech of the alarm coming from the rig coming to a stop. He watched carefully as they pulled a young woman from the back, her limbs splinted and blood covering her. He wasn't sure what it was; fate or an uneasy stomach, these days he hardly had the capacity to tell the difference. But, whatever the force behind it, she pulled him toward her and as he got close, the date he had planned for suddenly slipped his mind.

—

Everything hurt – that was the first thing your brain registered as you pulled your eyes open, the sound of a siren and the beat of your heart blaring simultaneously in your ears. The siren was close, you could tell, but you seemed so distant from it at the same time, so far away and fleeting. You closed your eyes, the darkness overcoming you. It only felt like they had been closed for five seconds, but you were sure it had been longer as you heard the sound of a man’s voice and felt wind around you, signaling your brain that you were moving by the sound of rickety wheels beneath you. The man sounded handsome and kind, his voice deep as it bellowed in the air around you.

“What do we got?”

He asked with urgency, looking pointedly at the paramedics, a team of doctors surrounding him.

“25 year old female, car accident. She went through the windshield – crush injuries, concussion, internal bleeding – she’s barely hanging on.”

He gingerly nodded at the words of the paramedic and brought a pen light from his pocket, pulling your eyelids back and shining it into them. A groan escaped your lips at the intrusion.

“Sweetheart, can you hear me?”

His voice penetrated your ears and for some reason unbeknownst to you, your brain pulled your eyes open, fighting to get to whoever the voice belonged. As you took in the blue eyes that stood over you, you registered who the voice belonged to – sounds and words you could barely register coming from his mouth again.

“I’m Dr. Rafe Cameron, I’m gonna take care of you, okay?”

He spoke, sliding his hand in yours, giving you a kind smile.

“Can you squeeze my hand, for me?”

Your senses weren’t intact, numbness infiltrated your being but you could feel his calloused hand as it slipped into yours and with all the energy that remained in your body, you squeezed his hand weakly. He smiled – bright and breathtakingly beautiful, teeth so perfectly in line that you were sure he had orthodontic work at some point. You noticed the crinkles by his eyes as his lips parted and his lips turned up. You suddenly regretted not shaving your legs this morning, taking in his handsomely sculpted jaw as he turned his head sideways, stretching his hands across you. You were unsure what was happening until you felt him unhooking the straps that you now realized were draped across your body, securing you to the bed you laid on.

“Move her on three – one, two, three.”

He chanted out, voice bellowing as his words controlled the move of every person in the room. You weren’t sure what kind of doctor Rafe was, but you knew he was important, that he was a leader, as every nurse and bystander operated under his sole instruction. You closed your eyes as the hands of the people around you lifted you from one bed to another, the jostling of your body breaking through the heavy cloud of numbness and what started as a whimper but quickly turned into a full-fledged bloody murder scream escaped your lips.

“Easy, sweetheart. I know it hurts.”

His hands made their way to your hair, pushing the blood-stained strands away from your forehead. His touch was gentle and calming, you had never been touched by a doctor like this, you thought to yourself.

“R-Rafe?”

You croaked out, eyes pleading.

“Hmm?”

He questioned with all his attention on you. His blue eyes raked over your form, studying your face, taking in the distress and the pain that laced it.

“Gonna die?”

You questioned, mumbling, incoherently and before he could even respond your eyes rolled into the back of your head, your back arching off the bed as you your body shook into a fit of convulsions.

“She’s crashing!”

One of the nurses yelled out.

“We’ve got to get her to the OR now, get me a neuro consult and page Dr. Richardson, I have no doubt in my mind she’s hemorrhaging.”

As soon as he muttered out the words, Rafe was straddling you on the gurney, legs on either side of your hips as his palms laid flat against your chest, fingers interlocking with each other as he violently, urgently pressed up and down in an attempt to restart your heart.

“Not today, sweet girl. Not today.”

He whispered, continuing chest compressions as the nurses and doctors wheeled the gurney the two of you were on into the operating room.

—

masterlist:

as always, if you'd like to be added to or removed from the taglist, please shoot me an ask or comment on this post so i can keep track <3

@maybankslover @inthelibrarybtw @luvrcndy @silkylovey @yagirlwrites @obxbabygirl @rafeecameronsbitch @klutzy-kay24 @roseczbalt @akobx @allsmilesreally7

#rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron #rafe x reader #outerbanks rafe #rafe cameron obx #rafe cameron prompt #rafe obx #rafe outer banks #rafecore #doctor!rafe #doctor!rafe cameron #doctor!rafe x reader #blue eyes + bruises

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red-doll-face · 2 days ago

Note

lowhonor arthur who's just obsessed with u. . . 😵‍💫

DOLLLYYY thank you for this wonderful request i was so excited to see a req from you in my inbox queen 😭😭😭 I LOVE YOU !!! 💖💖😊😊🥰🥰also thank you again for the one you wrote for me !! 🥹🥹 I tried really hard on this and im actually super proud of how it came out, I had my bf who is a lh arthur player weigh in on some dialogue sooooo i finally have a lh arthur committee to fall back on LMAO I hope you like it !! tysm for reading and any feedback makes me 😊😊😊 also made it a bit long as always w me ... Warnings: Arthur is a meanie , low honor arthur as a warning. like hes a jerk but what were we expecting?? however complete weenie for you like hes down bad. also sad arthur like he has his issues where he thinks he isnt a stud?? like i need a bucket of his nut rn sorryyyy

In Arthur's opinion, you only deserve joy and nothing less.

low honor Arthur Morgan x fem. reader

Do you have to be so goddamn distracting? He swears your giggle is the loudest of the girls, when they’re no doubt filling each other in about the latest camp affairs. He has to look over from where he was brushing his horse's glossy coat in the blazing sun. The grumpy shire gets annoyed at the loss of contact, turning to mouth at Arthur’s shoulder. Arthur's hand is squeezing the brush, as to make all the blood rush away from his knuckles. You sit there with Karen on the chairs outside the girl’s tent, whispering in her ear, before laughing again. The prettiest thing, your hair bouncing and your hand rising to your chest. Karen nudges your shoulder. And she turns to see him staring. The glare she sends his way isn’t all too unexpected.

But then Karen whispers to you as well. Her eyes flick over to where he’s standing. He looks away before the inevitable. Your eyes on him, curious, searching over him. He hates how that idea makes him feel, being perceived by you. Arthur wonders what you think. Some sad sap eyeing a young lady such as you. He looks down at his dirty shirt, the smell of horse flesh and hair clinging to him. You probably think he’s repulsive to look at. His brows draw together, his jaw gets tight. You must think he’s horrible, like Karen does. Cruel and awful. You wouldn’t be wrong. And he knows he shouldn’t do any of the things he thinks about doing but his impulses can be hard to control. The anxiety makes him almost nauseous. Heat brewing, his chest feeling tighter than he’d like; than he’d ever admit to a living soul. But his journal later tonight is another thing. He stuffs the horse brush back into his saddle bag. Why couldn’t he just ignore you? Push you from his mind, keep you from having any sort of affect on him? He’s not too sure.

Maybe it’s the way you catch his eye whenever you walk past, your skirt brushing against his leg. He knows you’re a real sweet thing. He loathed to see Ms. Grimshaw bring you to tears over your inability to perform to her standards. He had been all too eager to get some sort of odd revenge for you, being sure to dig in deep with remarks, his words feeling more barbed than usual. Being an attack dog he supposed, came all too easy. Not that you noticed particularly but it's more for his pride than anything else.

When he turns, you’re still looking, tilting your head. The expression on your face falters when you see him looking, your cute little lips parting before you avert your eyes, not even bothering to keep your head from facing towards him. You look nervous too. He imagines it’s because you might think about him just as much as he does of you. That at night, you might think of your girlish fantasies, ones where he holds your hand or gives you a smile, meant just for your eyes. Nothing so depraved as his own visions. But he knows you most likely don't think much of him at all. He huffs, scratching at his beard. He needs a smoke and maybe a drink, just to take a bit of the weight off of his chest at just the thought of you.

After dinner, you sit with Lenny. He tells you something that makes you laugh again. He seethes, it’s not him getting them from you but it’s still sends a shiver through him. He could swear he gets goosebumps. Your laugh is prettier than any of that droning music Dutch plays from his scratchy gramophone. Beautiful really. If he could keep your laugh to himself, he would. Would listen to it over and over. Would tell every joke he has. Hell, even the dirty ones. Instead, he’s listening to Bill ramble about how he doesn’t appreciate the folk around here thinking he’s as dumb as a donkey.

“It ain’t for no reason people think you’re a dumbass, Bill. It’s because you are. Kinda smell like a donkey too,” Arthur drawls, his natural inclination to getting under people’s skin only spiking at the sight of you smiling at Lenny. Fuckin’ kid. Arthur’s got nothing against him, only that he’s making you laugh. In another life, maybe he had that kind of easy and casual energy you liked, relaxed and amusing even. But he doesn’t, as evidenced by Bill’s blustering. He had tuned the first half of it out (focused on your lips, the roundness of your cheeks) but Bill is trying to sputter out a response as half as scathing as his own. Bill’s angry look only makes Arthur give his arrogant smile.

“And who asked you, Arthur?” The moron’s whiny voice only serves to annoy Arthur and cover up another one of your intoxicating giggles. Your joy was something to behold and Bill’s petulance is nothing special.

“You’re makin’ everyone dumber just by talkin’, why don’t you just shut your goddamn mouth?” Arthur shoots a nasty look at the other man until he turns red. John tells Bill to let it go. Arthur had pushed it too far but he doesn’t give even half a shit. Arthur dusts his thigh off before taking a sip from the bottle of whiskey gone warm in his palm. When you’re still talking to Lenny, he stands, forgetting the bottle on an errant crate. He approaches, trying to catch snippets of your conversation.

“-how come you like that game so much? Doesn’t it hurt when you mess up?”

“Well, I just don’t mess up and when I do, I take it on the chin. Don’t think I’d be any good otherwise,”

Your light laugh at Lenny's words makes him boil inside. Your bright simper; looking up at Lenny while the younger man stands, straight and as tall as he can. Proud smile, as if he can tell he’s impressed you. It all crumbles when Arthur comes near enough to be noticed. A stiff greeting falls from Lenny’s mouth, you look over your shoulder. Unsure how to respond. Arthur clings to his control, avoiding the glance that he wants to take of you. His restraint holds fast when he wants it to.

“Damn near cut your finger off the last time, wouldn’t be so sure,” he pokes at Lenny’s ego, goading him. Keeping his voice mellow enough as to be construed as playful but he can’t hide his harshness. Lenny doesn’t take his bait.

“Whatever, Arthur. You ain’t exactly the expert, neither,” You look between the two, a small nervous look flickering in your gaze. Arthur smiles, unfazed by Lenny’s snappy return. He knows how intimidating he can be; can see how Lenny’s resolve breaks just a little. He’s got courage, a smart kid. Quick, too. But he’s too young to have the authority Arthur carries, maybe one day but not now.

“Go on n’ play your games, you could always use more practice,” Lenny glares but looks at you. It only makes Arthur cross his arms over his chest. As if you need protection from him, should he taint you by standing too close. You nod, telling Lenny to have a good evening. In that sweet voice, so kind. Once Lenny is sure you think you’ll be fine, he has an exasperated sigh before he goes off.

“Arthur…” Is the reluctant response you have. Being alone with him obviously makes you fidget, makes your fingers scrunch in the fabric of your skirts. He likes your tongue forming his name, you almost whisper it, he can hardly hear it over the chatter of the other people around you. What a brave girl, putting up with him all by yourself.

“How-how are you?” you’re on the verge of making a frown but you hold your airy smile upwards. Afraid he’ll try to point out any flaw. You don’t understand why he does the things he does, his reputation proceeds him. But the issue is, Arthur doesn’t have any flaws to point out with you. You’re almost too good for this den of thieves you live amongst. Almost. If you were, then he wouldn't get to see you every day. Perhaps you were just another unfortunate person with nowhere else to go but he wouldn’t have it any other way. He’s always been greedy like that. He looked forward to waking up, if only to catch glimpses of you doing your chores or reading books in the sun. It takes him a bit too long to answer, adjusting his hat, his own nerves a bit pushed at his proximity to you. Just breathing the same air as you puts him in a better mood. He stares into your eyes, trying to evoke a reaction from you. They glimmer, warm fire light caressing the softness of you.

“Alright, I guess,” whatever quickness his tongue has is diminished. Playing nice isn’t his strong suit. Fumbling through a decent conversation with you might be nice though. The more you let him stay around you without walking away with a huff like Lenny did, the better. He won’t admit your presence has him softening a little. “What’re you up to?” He’s only a little embarrassed at how stupid that question sounds.

“Well, I was talking to Lenny but…” your glance in the direction Lenny walked off to makes him tighten his fist. He puts his hands on his belt, leaning his weight on one leg. “Now, I’m talking to you,” When your glances brush over him, he can feel it as if you touched him, he can’t help the way his stomach drops a few inches lower. Get a hold of yourself, you damn fool.

He can tell you didn’t know quite what to say. Doesn’t matter, he could listen to just about anything you have to say to the placating rhythm of the evening, the chirp of crickets, the wind in the trees.

“That so?” Idiot is his first thought. But the smile that breaks on your face; it's worth the humiliation curdling somewhere in him. Your shy nod, the shift in you, moved by him. He doesn't care if he’s assigning meaning where there isn’t any. He digs for more, looking for signs, imagined or not. Unconsciously, he drifts closer to where you sit on a rickety wooden chair.

“I think so. I don’t know, we don’t talk very often,” your voice is a precious sound. And so is the flutter of your eyelashes when you blink. Slow; now that you’ve let your guard down just a little. He watches intently, every movement you make.

“Damn shame, darlin’,” it is a shame. He figured he didn’t stand a chance but he can’t keep you from having a hold over him. Even when he isn’t here, his thoughts wander towards you. But now he looks for even a grain of affection in your eyes. He gathers more meaning from your words, the rising tone at the end of your sentence makes him think that you would like to talk to him more. He knows he’s deluding himself but he can kid himself just a little. His boot scrapes the dirt, ducking his eyes under the black brim of his hat. Just maybe, you’d engage him in more than an unnerved glance or a two word greeting.

At the name he calls you, your eyes widen just a bit, tilting your head, showing him your neck. Bad idea. He drinks in the sight. Is he disgusting for wanting to taste it? The skin of your neck, warm with your blood? The flattered and flustered raise of your fingers to your lips is exactly what he had wanted, he hadn’t known it but god, does it send satisfaction ringing throughout him; seeing the effect of him on you.

“Have I been missing out on something, Arthur?” Your tone is playful, but still reserved. Coming out of your shell now that he is reining in whatever drives him to push other people away with his harshness and his affronting demeanor. Just barely.

“Not really. Think it’s me; missin’ out on ya,” Lucky you, this is about as personable as Arthur can really get. But you seem to enjoy it. Your pretty smile and a hum that rivals the soothing nature of a cat’s purr; say so. He thinks of your contented murmur; how it would feel on his lips should you grace him with a kiss of yours. “Ain’t much for talkin’...”

“That’s not what I hear,” It is perhaps out of your mouth before you can think on it. Impulsive, just like him.

“And what have you heard?” it comes out more serious than he wants it to. More threatening. But he forces his posture to relax. As difficult as that is. You don’t flinch too much at least. Just lean back slightly.

“Well, I hear that…I’m not sure I should say..” The little reluctance you show is drawing him in. You're an angel, biting your thumb nail because of your nerves. Afraid to get someone in trouble. He crosses his arms over his chest again, leans against the nearest surface, a stationary wagon side.

“Jus’ tell me what they said, girl,” the way you follow his somewhat gentle command is more alluring than he should find it. Most people followed his direction without much question but it is something special when you look up at him, when you do as he says. Does something funny to his head. Mixes things up, stirring up his insides like Pearson’s godforsaken stew.

“They said-said you’re good with words. But you don’t always mean it. Those mean things you say,” you play with your hands, picking at the skin on your nails.

“Oh, I mean it. A lot of the time anyway. Why, I say somethin’ mean to you, princess?” At first you think you’ve activated whatever deep seated need Arthur has to make people dislike him. Your worried and panicked expression puts pressure on his chest. He doesn’t ever want you to look at him like that, not for real. Anything outside his idea of play just wouldn’t do. All he wants is that relaxed gesture of happiness you showed him. You shake your head; overexcited, but he speaks before you can muster a frightened response. He hadn’t said anything too bad with you, of that he’s sure but it can't hurt; offering you comfort. Arthur Morgan and comforting don’t often go in the same sentence. Despite his prickly reputation he gives you an easy grin, trying to keep his pride from turning it into a crooked smirk. Something he thought you might like, as he imagined you would.

“Cause I’m sure I didn’t mean it. Not with you,” He loves how quiet you get, pacified by his words. And that smile comes back; makes you look just fine.

thank you so much for reading!! i really am so grateful for the support i receive from this community. like i love yall smmmm !!🥺😭💖first time messing around in Arthur’s pov a lil so pls lmk any thots 🥰🥰🫶

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